If I Lose Myself
by thoroughlymodernJulie
Summary: The Second World War is drawing to a close. With an end in sight, Maria and Georg find themselves confronting questions and desires that haven't been considered since their escape from Austria nearly eight years prior, and yet have shaped their marriage. At a crossroads, the couple must find a way to navigate these hurdles, finding that things are never what they seem.
1. Prologue

Paris, France  
>September 1937<p>

"If there is one thing that is entirely sordid about the whole affair, it's that the oh-so-esteemed Captain von Trapp has dumped poor Elsa Schröder for a mountain girl—he didn't even have the decency to turn her away for a woman—his new bride is, quite literally, a girl. Rumor has it she coerced him, and might even be carrying his love child."

"Tut, tut, Alice," interjected an older woman of regal, poised stature, "she is not merely a mountain girl, but a novice at the esteemed Nonnberg Abbey. It rather makes the whole thing even worse, and she was hired as his children's governess, I heard." Taking a glass of wine as it passed by the group of tittering women, this thoroughly-informed member of the group paused to drink, then looked around at the others, smirking with superiority at their looks of awe and respect. "I have also heard tell that his children are holy terrors. They will likely run her off before long, and then they will both be ruined!"

The quiet chit of the gaggle spoke up at this interval, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "You have had designs on Georg von Trapp since you first laid eyes on him twenty years ago, Maude. Don't pretend you really believe that his reputation will be truly shattered if you think you can honestly find a way to wriggle into his life and use your title and money to salvage this… catastrophe."

Maude smiled impishly at this. "How naïve you are, Marianne, _cherie_. You see, the thing of it is, should the new… baroness," she spat, "indeed find herself with child, it will be a bastard from the day it is born. Never mind the children, the marriage can never work! His little slut will be out of my way within six months, forever shunned as a single mother."

"I think you underestimate how much this man loves his children, Maude," said Marianne. "Not that I don't agree you make the better match far and away, but do you even have an inkling of what love actually is and everything it entails? Perhaps he loves this woman he has chosen to marry. He certainly loved Miss Whitehead."

"Psh," Maude scoffed. "He loved her so much that he spent the majority of their marriage thousands of miles away on ships and in U-boats."

"He was so young then," Alice said, sounding as though she were about to take the side of the Captain and his new bride. "But plenty say he was a complete rake, regardless of his marital status."

"Clearly, or he wouldn't be in this situation!" Maude exclaimed. "Are you daft?"

"Why marry him then? Why bother? If you truly believe he is as any man, with no capacity to remain faithful, what is your object?"

Maude silenced at this and gave a haughty toss of her head. "It would all simply fly over your heads."

Alice and Marianne watched their companion as she drained her wineglass, then stalked off in a huff to find some willing dance partner, clearly irritated with her present company. Marianne shook her head. "Certainly the situation is ripe to gossip over, but surely she realizes she will never win that man."

"No, I am afraid not," came a deep, masculine, and very angry voice.

The women turned and gasped, realizing that Captain von Trapp was standing right behind them. He was taking the arm of a fourth woman in their company, whom they had not noticed sitting silently on one of the many benches that lined the ballroom floor. She was very beautiful, with short blond hair, stunning blue eyes, and a pale yellow gown of the most exquisite design, one which hugged her body in all the right places and which was the epitome of elegance and class. A fine diamond necklace glittered at her neck, and a simple, yet elegant ring was on her left hand. The gaggle realized all too late that this was his new wife, and they hurried off without a word, terrified of what had been heard and comprehended.

Baroness Maria von Trapp looked over to her husband as he watched the women flee, her brow knitting. "_Mehr Dummköpfe_?" she muttered quietly. Though her French was incredibly weak, she had recognized some of the conversation, and most certainly her husband's name, and that of his deceased wife's. Anything said about her, she was sure, was entirely nasty and inappropriate.

Captain von Trapp gave a tight nod.

Maria shook her head, marveling at the gall she had just witnessed. Not knowing precisely the content, she found it difficult to be as angry as Georg, but this was becoming a tiresome pattern. "Am I carrying our tenth love child?" she questioned, trying to make light of the situation and hazarding a very easy guess.

Georg's gaze bore into hers at these words, and he pulled his wife into a quiet corner, away from prying eyes. Before doing anything else, he stroked her face and kissed her chastely, then said, "I am loathe to repeat any of that, as it was quite vulgar, but we'll discuss it later. I just want you to know that I love you more than life itself, only you hold my heart, and I am content with my lot."

Maria's grin had sobered, and she nodded. This flurry of gossip, most of it centered around what was meant to be a very private and, at least to Maria's mind, joyful matter, was something she handled with varying degrees of humor or irritation, but her new husband only possessed one approach: red-hot fury. In a way, it was quite gallant of him, and Maria found she appreciated the fire in his actions when they were alone more than she had dreamed possible, but most days, she simply shook her head, glanced at the pile of papers her husband read every morning, and said to him, "No child until this unrest has settled, my love. If things turn out the way they appear to be heading, all these words, they will soon mean absolutely nothing."

He would then look up at her and smile sadly, reminding her that whether words had present or future weight, they still carried the power to cause hurt. And he was so very sorry that she had to be constantly exposed to this, sometimes in the most vicious of manners.

She would nod, acknowledge the truth of this statement, and recall some of the nastier rumors flying around at home in Salzburg and Vienna, spoken in her own native tongue, leaving no room for misunderstanding. And she would shrug.

* * *

><p>Aigen, Austria<br>August 1937

It was unbearably hot and humid, with rain threatening. Maria was caught up in the flurry of last-minute details for the wedding in several weeks, and though her fiancé was supposed to be keeping his seven children occupied for several hours while she attempted to finish off her never-ending lists with some occasional help from Frau Schmidt, he wasn't faring very well.

Gretl ran into the study where her governess was hard at work, shrieking something about wanting Maria all to herself, with Marta and Kurt hot on her heels. They circled her desk repeatedly in a wild game of chase until Maria was forced to raise her voice and demand that they leave her in peace.

The youngest von Trapp's lip began to tremble, tears appeared in Marta's eyes, and Kurt may as well have been slapped. The girls ran out, trying to hold back their tears, but when Maria hurried to stand and go to Kurt, he shook his head. "You're no fun anymore, Fraulein Maria!" he cried. "I don't want you to be our new mother!"

With that, he hurried out to follow his sisters, slamming the study doors shut with a loud bang.

Maria sat down again, eyes still wide from this pronouncement, glanced at the list she had made detailing the wedding party, and brushed it aside with a cry of frustration. Georg had hired as many people as possible to do various things, from the gowns and dresses to the cake and music, but when it came to coordinating the entire event, Maria found herself quite alone.

Twirling the pencil she held, Maria stared blankly at the floor, thinking of everything that had happened since announcing their engagement publicly. They had tread lightly as a couple, at first, only appearing at a handful of dinners and dances in the first month of their engagement, but it soon became clear that the gossip mill was running on the water power of their relationship, and the more visible they were, the worse things became, and though Georg found it unfathomable and unconscionable that absolutely no one preferred to step up and take a stand to support Maria and guide her through the snares of his aristocratic world, Maria understood immediately: he was doing all he could, but his reputation could only go so far, and so far, no woman of such status had taken it upon herself to bring Maria under her wing.

Those who didn't gossip stayed silent. It was utterly impossible, and mulling this little bit over, Maria felt once again that, as herself, as a young woman, she had no place in this world, no sense of belonging. She did not know how to wear her new mantel. And because she struggled despite Georg's constant tutelage, these she-wolves found all the chinks in her armor and exploited them to their very best.

It was all suddenly too much, and the dark, depressive cloud that had been hanging over Maria's head for weeks descended upon her, and the tears began to fall.

Several minutes later, a knock sounded at the study door, and Georg's voice could be heard from the other side. When she did not respond, he entered, only to find his bride-to-be heaving silent sobs of fear and panic, and he went to her immediately, embracing her.

"Darling, hush," he whispered, rocking her and stroking her head. "I have spoken to Kurt, and he will be confined to his room with no books or toys until he apologizes to you for his words. I don't believe he truly meant them."

Maria, whose sobs were now verbal but muffled by Georg's shoulder, struggled to find her words. "It's not… not just that," she said shakily. "I… I just don't know if I can do this, any of it!"

"I will hire help to finish the wedding planning, dear heart. I had hoped some friends would kindly step in, but…"

"N-no, Georg, I-I…I meant b-be your w-w-wife," she stuttered, crying more violently now. "I am no baroness. I was not born to this life. Anyone can teach me how to behave, but helping me see how to use my title and position to command respect and reverence… that is something I have no innate understanding for. I am clumsy and sometimes terribly foolish, and I don't always know when it would be better not to speak at all. I am paralyzed by fear, and the fact that suddenly I am becoming a person I do not recognize, for ends that are so vague to me—I am so unworthy of this honor and privilege."

As Maria continued to speak, the more panicked Georg felt. He thought his help and instruction, loving and gentle, had been plenty enough to carry her through the perils of their controversial engagement, but now he could see something very clearly: he had given her a set of tools she had no idea how to wield, no matter what her natural charm and wit, and now he found her disintegrating before his eyes, suffering not only under the strain of his high-society life, but the mounting animosity of his own children. For all they had tried to do to keep the peace and make the children feel secure in the fact that nothing would change, he realized now that this had been a grave error. He should have seen it sooner. All of it.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Maria pulled away from her fiancé's embrace, the last of her unshed tears glistening in her eyes. "What am I to do?" she asked, anguish coloring her every word. "I love you so! I could not bear to be apart from you, yet I am unsuited in the role of wife and baroness at every turn. I can't even plan our wedding! Perhaps I should just take up as your mistress," she muttered bitterly. "It seems that's what is expected to have happened; perhaps that is where my error lies: trying to live a life beyond my station."

For a moment, Georg's heart stopped at the shock of her words. She could not possibly be propositioning to be his mistress? How much vitriol had actually reached her ears? And how could her self-worth have deteriorated so quickly that in a matter of weeks, the woman who had stripped him bare and told him every folly he'd made with his children in spite of his glaring hatred for her words was now this unrecognizable self-doubting, self-destructive shell?

"Maria!" Georg said sharply, anger tinging his voice. "I do not ever want to hear you say such a thing again. Your worth goes so far beyond being my sidepiece and the voluntary laughingstock of Viennese high society! I love you!"

But she merely continued to gaze at him miserably.

It was with a sinking feeling that Georg realized what he must do. Taking her left hand in his, Georg kissed the engagement ring that was on her finger, and pulled out the wedding ring from the inner pocket of his blazer. "Maria," he swallowed, "I will not force you to do something you do not want to do. You can take that ring off, and we won't marry. I can keep this wedding ring for a later time, when you are more prepared. But I will not have you as my mistress. I will only have you as my wife, Maria. My regard for you is too high to behave in any other way."

Maria looked down at her hand, then back to Georg, her right hand lingering over the ring.

"You could also keep the ring," Georg finished, watching her face carefully. "And this time, I will do right by you. I will implore some of the best women I know to take you under their wings and help you. Hired professionals will finish the wedding details. We will lay the boundaries differently for the children. It was unfair to all of us to treat this engagement as though nothing would change their relationship with you, and I should have seen that straight away. I was caught up in their excitement and took it all for granted. That was a mistake, and I am sorry. What should be a source of joy to you has only served to make you hurt more."

Maria nodded; whether she was agreeing to continue the engagement or acknowledging the truth of his words, Georg was unsure. He settled for both, and pushed the wedding ring onto her finger, resting alongside the engagement ring. "Marry me?"

Maria took a slow breath, then said, "Promise me something."

Georg nodded, murmuring, "Anything, my love."

"Promise me," she stated, "that if these next few weeks are a continued disaster, you will tell me so. I don't know that I possess the capacity to correct anything that has not already been determined to be a major misstep on my part."

Georg hesitated, understanding that she meant to have him break off the engagement if things continued to go badly.

"I don't intend to appear weak, but my concern is for you and the children; I am afraid that as baroness, wife, and mother, I am doing far more harm than good." She quirked a sad smile. "It has been my observation that sometimes, unfortunately, much as we wish it, love does not conquer all."

"I suppose that is difficult to argue with," Georg said, wishing he had some words of encouragement or wisdom that would disabuse Maria of her most recent ideas.

"Also," Maria breathed, blushing faintly, "forgive me the delicate subject, but I do not wish to become pregnant at any point during our honeymoon, or even soon thereafter."

Georg thought of the incessant rumors that had every person Maria met scrutinizing her figure not to appraise her beauty and attractiveness, but rather to gauge her level of sin and wrongdoing, and understood her meaning expressly. He indicated this with a nod.

"And…" Maria trailed, "well, perhaps this is doubly selfish, but if the _Anschluss_ is coming and, I'm not saying it will come to this, but if war does break out… I would rather not bring a baby into that. I know it is a lot to ask, and defies everything my faith has taught me, but… it frightens me."

Her voice had grown smaller with this second confession, nearly to a whisper by the time she had finished speaking. Georg took her hands in his, and said firmly, "Not selfish. Sensible. As much as I want to have a child with you, Maria, it is not as though I am young and childless. Seven children is a great responsibility, and adding to that number would be more foolish than selfless in uncertain times."

"I have these nightmares sometimes," Maria whispered, "that some great evil is after us, after you, and I am heavily pregnant, unable to reach safety because of it…and the children are left alone." She blushed crimson. "It seems so foolish, saying it out loud."

Brow furrowed, Georg considered what Maria had just told him. It seemed as though it was one part true fear, and one part metaphor. If he were a different man, he would simply restrict her further involvement in soirées and dances to less stressful things than politics, but he was a man that appreciated his betrothed's quick wit and sharp mind, especially in a pinch, and though she did not say much, she absorbed it all. When he had first met her, he often thought of the space inside her head as some sort of murky, cobwebby maze, but now he saw it more like an internal puzzle fueled by her astute nature and burning curiosity to know anything and everything.

"You are not foolish. Not in the slightest. I was scarcely home through any of the pregnancies that resulted in my children. When things tide over, Maria, I so long to share in that with you. I should have, back then, but Lord willing, one day in the future, I can right some of my wrongs with you, my darling."

Maria cracked a watery smile and kissed her soon-to-be husband softly on the lips, taking the time to gently suckle and taste him before pulling away. "Well, how could I possibly refuse such a man as you?"


	2. Part I: Chapter 1

Stowe, Vermont  
>April 1945<p>

She woke to the sensation of her husband's hand gently rubbing up and down the length of her bare arm. Groaning loudly, Maria tried to burrow further under the covers, stubbornly curled in a ball, but Georg would have none of it, for he was now burying his face in the crook of her neck, licking the hollow and humming sounds of contented pleasure. Arching her back as she twisted around to see her husband face-to-face, Maria blinked blearily up at him, clearing her throat.

"Good morning, Maria," he grinned devilishly.

Maria's response was thoroughly nonverbal, but decidedly more emphatic. She pulled a pillow from beneath her head and launched it at Georg, catching him hard in the chest; at this, he simply began to chuckle. Maria was ever only churlish in mornings and in need of waking when she had not slept as well as she might have, and those instances were few and far between. He had learned long ago not to take offense by it.

"Alright, alright—I get the message! I should know better than to rouse you!"

Climbing out of the bed, Georg located his dressing gown and tied the sash, leaning down to kiss his irritable wife's forehead on his way out the door, no doubt in search of his morning paper, coffee, and something light to tide him over until Maria rose to start the usual big breakfast for nine before the children all traipsed off to school or set to the day's work.

Upstairs, Maria dragged herself from beneath the warm covers, still not inclined to forgive her husband for his unholy cheerfulness at the early morning hour and obvious desire to play. It had not been very sporting of her, she thought, hitting him with that pillow, but today was a day where she simply needed her cup of tea and a large breakfast before she was prepared to be amiable company to anyone.

After reading a short passage from the Psalms, Maria shuffled her way into the bathroom, grateful that, of all things, an in-suite bathroom was part of the layout of this old, American farmhouse. It was more of a chalet, to her mind, of course in a very broad sense. But it had been the one defining feature of the structure that she appreciated the most when they had first viewed the property. In a strange and small way, it was a comfort to her, reminding her daily that not all had been lost, nor would things remain as bleak as they had once seemed. And indeed, life was good, here. America suited them. It suited her.

She missed Austria terribly, but the daily ache of longing for her homeland's beautiful mountains and way of life had lessened to infrequent bouts of melancholy, and she often talked herself into higher spirits by reminding herself that her husband and children had lost so much more; what's more, they were incredibly, unbelievably blessed.

Maria gazed at her reflection in the mirror as she brushed her teeth after a quick shower, thinking through all the things she needed to do that day. The boys would be waking soon to feed the cow and horse; she would start breakfast and spend a few uninterrupted minutes with a cup of tea and her husband reading quietly while she stared out the great windows, studying the mountains on the cusp of sunrise as she did every morning. Then, he would go to the gardens and she would clean up the breakfast spread before harnessing the horse and riding a few miles into the nearest town to work her half-day as a seamstress, Brigitta, Marta, and Gretl riding along with her. Liesl, Kurt, and Louisa both rode with Friedrich in his friend's car first thing after breakfast, as Liesl taught the first-year primary school children and Louisa assisted the town doctor with his patients. Friedrich worked as the junior manager at the lumber mill and occasionally leant his skills to the blacksmith if Kurt was having a busy day. Maria would buy anything necessary for dinner that night and be home in time to make a late lunch for her and Georg to share.

Today was washing day, as well, she remembered, wrinkling her nose. She did not mind washing, but with that came ironing, and Maria positively hated ironing. It was the one thing she could not throw herself into with a cheerful spirit, and she was already feeling positively drained. If only Friday weren't so close to Sunday, she could put it off for a few days…

Maria sighed, shaking herself. This wouldn't do! Squaring her shoulders, she tugged her brush through her long hair, taking no care with the snarls, and quickly twisting it up into her usual chignon. She really must find the few photos she had from her engagement and wedding and see if she could not replicate her pageboy-short coif. Her only excuse for the length of her hair now, which reached just past her elbows, was simply that it had been a low priority in the first year or two following the escape from Austria, and by that point it had simply been easier to pin it up in a twist or braid than to try to find someone who would give her the outrageously short style without gawking at her stupidly when she tried to indicate to the best of her abilities what she was expecting of the look. That she had not succeeded in this venture was due not to her lack of sufficient nerve, but rather due to her lack of trust that she would receive what she asked for.

She did not think it was a matter of her English skills, either. Her English was, quite frankly, excellent, and she had surprised even herself with the ease to which she adjusted to using the language as an actual speaker and not just as a student attempting to recite passages by rote. It was simply that American hairdressers were just as agog at her wish for short hair as Austrian noblewomen were. Perhaps she would simply visit the local barber, Tony. He would finish the job, no muss no fuss, and he would do a nice job of it—he always made sure Georg retained his clipped, crisp hair without taking away from the full body and wave of it. For the first time this morning, Maria quirked a smile. How she loved to toy with his hair! She could happily run her hands through it for hours, and often did…

Maria grabbed her chemise from where it was hanging on the back of the bathroom door and pulled it over her head, hurrying to dress. She could hear the children beginning to move about on the floor above.

"Tea, Georg?" Maria asked some ten minutes later as she swept into the kitchen, laying a gentle hand on her husband's shoulder as she passed. "Or would you prefer more coffee?"

"Coffee, if you please," he said, looking up from his paper to glance at the shoulder Maria had touched just a moment ago. "Are you well, love?"

"Yes, quite," Maria assured, rummaging about in the cupboards to find her kettle and the frying pans. "Nothing particularly out of the ordinary, just a bit off-kilter this morning." Finished filling the kettle, which she had found hiding behind her favorite pots next to the stove, she placed the stopper in and glanced over her shoulder at Georg with an apologetic smile. "I did sleep well, for what it's worth. I just wish I felt more rested."

"Ah," said Georg, nodding sympathetically. He got to his feet, abandoning his morning papers and coffee to slide his arms around Maria and greet her properly. Placing kisses on the nape of her neck, he murmured, "I forgive you for the slight I received just a bit ago by your hand."

Maria flushed at this, turning around in Georg's arms so that she could look at him. "I am sorry. And I'm sorry that you wanted to have your fun and I was far away from that. Even if it weren't for my mind's inner protestations at carrying on with life as usual, I was rather attached to the dream you woke me from, darling."

"Mmm, and what was that?"

Turning back to the eggs that needed cracked and beaten for breakfast, Maria smiled deviously. "Oh, a bit of this and that, nothing appropriate for our children to overhear."

Georg cocked his head at this, realizing that indeed, there was the telltale pounding of feet as seven children exited their bedrooms, shut their doors, and made for the stairs. "You are beholden to me, Fraulein!" he chided. "In the interest of propriety, I shall release you of this obligation to tell me what you dreamt, but don't think I won't expect you to tell—you so uncharitably threw a pillow at me, hard, when all I wanted was to nuzzle my wife!"

"As if," Maria snorted, now chopping fresh strawberries to go alongside the oranges she had just halved to make freshly-squeezed orange juice. "Make yourself useful and take the heavy whipping cream out for the strawberries," she directed.

"What, Mother? What did Father want?" came Gretl's cheerful voice. The thirteen-year-old dutifully took her mother's place at the stove, pushing the scrambled eggs about the pan as they cooked.

"Nothing, dearest," Maria said absently, shooting her husband a look. "He is merely being impertinent."

"Oh," Gretl said wisely. "Grown-up stuff."

Maria eyed her youngest, wondering if perhaps she had heard more than she was letting on. But she shrugged it off, concluding that it was good for their children to see and hear them expressing affection for one another, whether that came in the form of obvious displays or gentle teasing and bickering.

"If you could also butter the toast, love," Maria said, pointing to a stack of toast and the butter dish waiting on the table. "The cover for the eggs is on top of the stove, just turn the flame off and cover them so they don't get cold and become congealed."

"Yes, Mother," Gretl said happily.

A half an hour later, Friedrich entered the kitchen with a pail of milk, warm and foaming. Brigitta took it from him and poured it out for those that typically took milk with their breakfast, quickly skimmed the rest, and the family assembled at the table, exclaiming happily over the large pan of eggs, the bowls of strawberry with heavy cream, a light cheese, and the sausages. Georg said the blessing, and everyone tucked in heartily. Breakfast had not been totally Americanized, but it was typically a happy mixture of traditional Austrian fare and some of the most agreeable aspects of American breakfasting. Maria and Kurt ate the most ravenously, as usual, and when everyone had eaten their fill, nothing was left.

"The best part of having a large family," Maria said with a warm smile, "is there is scarcely much to 'clean up' at the table after a meal!"

The children all laughed at this and nodded their agreement, downing the last of their coffee, tea, orange juice, or milk before beginning the mad scramble to deposit their dishes in the sink and hurry off to prepare for the day ahead, or in Friedrich, Kurt, Louisa, and Liesl's case, leave for work.

"Marta, I want to see your figures before we head off to school," Maria called after her second youngest, "and Gretl, make sure you have your essay packed and your name _on_ it!"

A chorus of "Yes, Mother," was heard from the hall. Maria shook her head, feeling much better for having had her tea, a small chat, and breakfast. These children really were the light of her life. It seemed only yesterday that she had arrived on their father's doorstep and met them for the first time on the end of a boatswain whistle and nothing but a horrid dress and sheer incredulity. She still had that gray dress folded away in her wardrobe, typically reserved for renovations to the farmhouse or painting or a trek through the mountains. She wasn't particularly sure why she kept it, beyond obvious sentimental reasons: they all, herself included, hated it, and laughter abounded on the rare occasions that she did don it.

Today, she had chosen to wear one of her favorite dress suits from her original bridal trousseau, a fine, medium-weight navy blue creation that was both appropriate for the cool, wet mid-April weather and the height of professionalism and an example of good craftsmanship, something which aided Maria well in her job. Though she herself had not made the dress, the design had been her idea, and its appeal as smart and sharp seemed to reach quite far. The governor's wife herself had ordered a wardrobe made by Maria several years prior. Oblivious to the honor, Maria had been happy to oblige, though she put a limit on how many large orders she would take in any given year. She had plenty at the house to take care of!

The revenue her work brought in those first few years, though, had very well financed a large portion of their life and subsidized the relative comfort in which they lived. Georg had been able to salvage some of the family fortune—enough to journey across land and sea—but the majority had been frozen as soon as it was clear that he would not cooperate with the new regime operating in Austria and Germany.

The goal had been, once, to be as inconspicuous as possible, but Maria and Georg both realized that notion to be absurd, particularly with seven children in tow. So, somehow, they did their level best to integrate seamlessly into their new life and had reached a certain threshold of success. Life was comfortable here. Safe. They had friends. No political enemies. A future.

"I say," a loud, grating voice rang out, "that man is simply _dishy_!"

Jerked out of her reverie, Maria grimaced, replacing the bolt of fabric she had been examining, a deep silk burgundy, and turned to look out the window. Meddling Mrs. Roberts had arrived for her measurements and a third fitting, and the object of her quite inappropriate affections was, not surprisingly, Georg. The loud, pushy woman was nice enough, and meant well with her words, but if Maria felt she sometimes had no stopper for her own mouth, this woman was more a waterfall than a bursting dam.

"If you could step into the fitting room, Mrs. Roberts," Maria said quickly, watching her husband mount the steps as she took the mousy, plump woman by the shoulders to direct her. "I'll be with you momentarily."

Removing her apron, Maria hurried to greet her husband with a quick peck on the cheek and then led him out to the storefront. "Is everything alright?" she asked, brow furrowed.

Pulling a telegram out of his jacket pocket, Georg handed it to her. "I thought you should see this, so I drove up, hoping you might be able to get away early today."

Glancing at her husband as she unfolded the note, Maria said, "Even if I could, there is still the cart and horse."

"The girls can manage," Georg said shortly.

"Oh," Maria said, eyes widening as she read the short missive. It was written in German. "When must we leave?"

"Now. Leave a note for Marta and Gretl with Mrs. Higgins."

Maria swallowed. Alexandra Higgins, the owner of the dress shop, was a wonderful and kind woman, but she took her craft and business seriously, rarely allowing Maria to leave early. There had been a few occasions where Georg himself had groveled for her permission to whisk Maria away, and he had not been consistently successful. Of course, she would impress that this was an emergency, but Lucille Roberts _was_ waiting in the back and would doubtless make a stir.

"I'll telephone her now."

Ten minutes later, Maria had summoned her employer to the shop, placated Mrs. Roberts with a new selection of materials to busy herself over, written a note for her daughters, and gathered all her things. Georg beckoned her to him and they hurried to the car, Maria still pinning her hat securely as they went.

* * *

><p>"If you could please stop wriggling, Mrs. Roberts," said Alexandra Higgins, a bit sharper than most would deem necessary, "I can finish much faster."<p>

"Hmmph," Lucille Roberts huffed, "this place certainly took a turn for the better when that dear little baroness arrived here, and that's saying something, as the selections have gone downhill with this dreadful war on. Why was she off in such a rush?"

"I haven't the faintest," Mrs. Higgins lied smoothly. "And even so, it is none of our concern."

The seamstress and proprietress, a widow in her early fifties, would have loved to say "your concern," but the steely woman was aware that it would be a fast way to lose a sure customer, and annoying as she found this nosy, overbearing woman, her limitless spending did much to supplement the shop's success. Pushing a lock of her gray-streaked chestnut hair behind her ear, she grabbed more pins and continued to adjust the hemline of the flashy cocktail dress; it was to Maria's credit that the gratuitous design even flattered the woman wearing it at all.

Indeed, she _did _know why and to where her best seamstress had gone, but the information was sensitive and uncertain at best, and she only knew enough to supplement the youngest von Trapps' questions when they arrived to collect the horse and cart at the day's end. And no doubt their mother had left more in the note behind the counter, which Alexandra had recognized as being dashed off in their native German. More in the interest of time than privacy, she knew, but all the same, it was smart.

"You know, I have wondered if she is barren, as it is obvious the dear Captain has no issue siring children!"

Goodness! The insufferable gossip was still talking, and about ever more private matters. Sighing internally, Alexandra shook her head, saying in a clipped tone, "I daresay it is more a choice they made in these uncertain times. And at any rate, I am glad not to have her in and out of here every year with a babe in arms and a child at her skirts. She is well-liked and does excellent work."

"Oh, but I know you are an old softie at heart, Lexie! You would love it to have a few little ones brightening this place up!"

"I was not aware that there was anything lacking in my establishment," Alexandra said, raising an eyebrow as she attempted to steer the conversation away from Maria von Trapp. "And considering there is a war on, it is a miracle we could even obtain the materials to make _this_," she gestured to the flashy, sequin-adorned, knee-length party dress, the silk top adorned with painstaking patterns of fake jewels and chiffon skirts all a horrible mustard-yellow color. "And do _not_ call me 'Lexie,'" Alexandra said waspishly.

"Yes, well," Lucille sighed heavily, ignoring Alexandra's irritation, "I don't suppose you know where I might find a good pair of stockings to compliment this?"

Rolling her eyes, Alexandra muttered, "Maria told you as well as I could: if this were New York, it might be possible to find _something_, but if you haven't any forgotten old pairs stashed away in good condition, I'm afraid you are out of luck. We won't likely be getting any stockings until the war ends. You should have heeded her suggestion for a longer skirt if you have any immediate plans for this."

"It's just that this town is so dull and lifeless, and I simply wanted an excuse to escape for a while. Joshua will be returning for my birthday, and he wants to stay in Annapolis. Said something about a girl there."

"Seems like a bit of a drive with limits on the gasoline," Alexandra observed.

"Oh, I rarely drive these days, anyway. We have quite a bit stashed away in the barn for occasions such as this."

Alexandra blinked, somewhat troubled by the fact that Lucille Roberts drove herself everywhere, thought of this as nothing, and kept flammable war necessities in a barn, of all places. This was one moment where she was absolutely certain that the woman was not only oblivious and daft, but a stupid old cow. How Maria kept her good sense around her was a mystery. Alexandra prided herself on being the picture of decorum and good grace, but any amount of time around Mrs. Roberts invariably drove her to her late husband's Scotch whiskey stores.

"Now that I think of it, perhaps that youngest child is Maria's… they certainly resemble one another."

Really! This was madness. "Be that as it may, Maria is just thirty years old. Gretl is thirteen." Snipping the bit of thread she'd been working with to baste a temporary hem, Alexandra rocked back onto her heels, looking up at her client. "Well, Mrs. Roberts, I think this is all I need to finish the dress. Either Maria or I will call you to pick this up, unless you would like to wait until we have finished your new suit, of course."

"If you think it will be done before the first of May, then I will wait," Lucille nodded. "I will write your check up front."

"That is fine," Alexandra nodded, gathering her materials.

The seamstress had only just seen Mrs. Roberts out the door when Marta and Gretl von Trapp entered the shop, faces clouded with obvious confusion.

Marta said, "We were on our way home and saw Wolfgang still tethered around back. Is Mother alright?"

"Yes, she is fine. Your father picked her up around ten o'clock this morning in the car. She left you a note and asked me to make sure you girls manage to take the horse home alright. I can call Friedrich and have him drop off Kurt, if necessary." She handed Marta the note, and the girl read it, with Gretl looking over her shoulder.

"No," Gretl shook her head. "Thank you, though, Mrs. Higgins." Her eyebrows were knit. "Did Mother say anything else?"

"Just that they were heading to New York to fetch a Mr. Detweiler."

"New York!" Gretl exclaimed. "They surely won't make it home tonight! That's nearly six hours away!"

"No, I don't think so, either," said Alexandra. "She said to assure you that they will telephone as soon as they know more."

"Detweiler," said Marta slowly. She referenced the hasty note again. Nothing telling. "Wait," she said, turning to her sister. "Remember those programs from the Salzburg music festival?" Marta kept her own copy stashed away in a tin box under her bed.

Comprehension dawned on Gretl's face. "Uncle Max!" she cried. "We must go home immediately! What if we miss Mother's call?"

"I wouldn't worry about that," Alexandra assured, shaking away her sleeve to check her watch. "They likely won't even arrive in the city for another hour, and it will take time to sort out whatever has happened."

Gretl nodded, but looked antsy all the same. Clearly, she was not to be persuaded otherwise.

* * *

><p>Salzburg, Austria<br>September 1937

"This is it," said Georg, cutting the car engine.

Maria took a steadying breath, gazing out the windshield and up at the side gates to Nonnberg Abbey. "This is it," she echoed. She did not want to leave his side. It pained her, and she said so.

"We shall be married tomorrow, my love," Georg smiled, stroking a thumb along his betrothed's jaw. "Not long now. Just an evening and a night and then morning will come, and I will take you as my wife with God as my witness, Maria. You will be Baroness Maria von Trapp. Nun-in-training Maria Rainer no more."

Maria smiled weakly at this. It was a sweet attempt to comfort and reassure her. The preceding weeks had gone much better, and she felt she had a better hand on everything that was happening. But she still felt as though she was hopelessly out of her depth. Perhaps the only thing convincing her that this marriage was not a huge mistake was the way her heart would pound every time she set her eyes on Georg. How her breath would catch every time he touched her. How her stomach would flutter every time he spoke to her. How she felt utterly safe and warm and loved every time he murmured an endearment meant only for her.

It would simply have to be sufficient. There was time enough to learn.

"I think I gave up my claim to cloistered life when I fell into your lake," Maria murmured, leaning in for a kiss.

"Mmm, yes, that was likely your point of no return, darling," Georg agreed, taking her face in his hands.

The kiss began gentle and chaste, deepening slowly but surely, until there was no space left between them and Maria's chest was heaving. She withdrew from the intimate embrace with reluctance, wishing back the nights where they whiled away the hours in his study or on the verandah, talking and kissing and occasionally necking with nothing imposing upon their activities but their own sense of decorum and propriety.

"Something to look forward to," Georg said huskily, taking Maria's hand in his own so as to escort her to the gate.

They slid out of the car from Maria's side, and it was when she turned to pull the gate shut and locked behind her that Maria responded at all.

"I look forward to everything you have yet to teach me with some trepidation, Georg, but it is outweighed in spades by my own alacrity following that _very_ generous good night." She smiled, a sparkle returned to her eye.

Georg gazed upon the woman who was to be his wife in less than twenty-four hours, and with dusk upon them, she was beautiful, and he felt he could not possibly love her more. Every misgiving he had had seemed to be nothing in light of this return of her teasing wit and playfulness. A playfulness underlined most boldly by a clear indication of amorous desire. It was… heady. How she managed this, he would never know. For a time, he thought she simply was oblivious to her charm, and to an extent, she was. But she was also a woman, one with an awakening sense of self in terms of her own femininity. She had learned to seize what little moments she could to revel in that.

Those moments when she was testing those waters and growing bolder in them were perhaps the most comforting to Georg, not only because of the effect she had on him, but because it showed him that Maria had not completely abandoned her personality to fear and feelings of total inadequacy in the course of planning their wedding. She was certainly not entirely collected now, but he had weeks upon weeks to bring her back to herself, show her just how strong she was, show her how loved she was, and how absolutely essential she was to his existence, without the presence of issues like some of his children's seemingly sudden reticence or Salzburg's upper crust of socialization and its perils.

The problems with the children had not precisely improved, and the wedding party had been altered somewhat to reflect that, but after speaking with the embittered parties, Georg was convinced that time apart would prove the best cure for the strained relationships amongst his angst-ridden sons and somewhat tepid middle daughters with regard to Maria. Distance would be literal, and space aplenty. He and Maria would forge their bond as spouses with nothing impeding, and the children would have several somewhat… lax weeks with Max in which they could sort out their own problems. If anything residual remained, he and Maria would address it accordingly _after_ the honeymoon.

And as a man who so desired his intended, as far as he was concerned, his children could stuff it. He cared about them, loved them, and wanted nothing more than for them to be happy, but it was not for them to dictate who he could and could not marry. And truthfully, the reality was that if Maria had remained in his employ with Elsa gone, a scandal surely would have brewed, far worse than what it was currently, and then where would they all be? It simply would not do.

Had Georg been a different man, or even a younger man, he might have happily taken Maria for his mistress, but he had a world of change between that time of his life and now, and he had learned to cherish what he held dear, having paid a rather extraordinary price to learn that lesson. He would not dishonor Maria simply because his children felt they had a superior claim over her. When he had needled Kurt for an explanation of his atrocious and hurtful behavior toward Maria, it had come out that the boy did love her, and had often found himself wishing Maria would be their mother, but seeing his father take a claim over her so swiftly had made him feel as though he suddenly did not matter.

That the family had been on numerous outings together, fully inclusive, before that unfortunate outburst in the study, had been to no effect. Kurt simply felt the way he felt, and it was something he would need to work through on his own. Louisa did not precisely express dissatisfaction, but she was unreadable as ever, wrapped up in herself, as she often was, and not willing to be coaxed into talking about her emotions and feelings. Friedrich, meanwhile, seemed to have developed a bit of a crush on Maria, and now that she was to become his mother, he was having difficulty processing this as his new reality. And perhaps the most surprising discontented party was Brigitta. Her affection for Maria was unquestionable, but she was not convinced that Maria simply wouldn't take off again if the going got rough.

Maria had handled that issue most exclusively, spending great amounts of time with the girl doing nothing particular—sometimes to Georg's immense disappointment, as their time together was already limited—but in the last few weeks, Brigitta seemed more confident, self-assured, and contented with the state of affairs. If that was the price he had to pay for restoring some of the familial harmony, so be it… tomorrow night would mark the start of eight glorious weeks alone, just he and Maria.

And, oh, what plans he had! They would spend the wedding night and following night in the Hotel Salzach, then board the train to Paris, where they would take up residence in the Hôtel de Crillon and quite hopefully never see the light of day.

He would, of course, escort Maria to various events, concerts and the occasional soirée and the like, but mostly he simply wanted to stay shut in a room with her, doing unspeakable things that the world could not possibly imagine when they gazed upon the von Trapp duo. If their engagement provided any inkling for how she would respond to such ministrations, Georg felt supremely confident that his fiancée was no shrinking violet and would, in her words, respond with "alacrity."

Alacrity, indeed.

It might very well be the key to unleashing her confidence once more. He looked forward to it with relish.

* * *

><p>"Mazel tov, Maria," said Max warmly. "My many congratulations." He kissed her hand, then leaned in to kiss the smiling bride gently on each cheek. "You fill your shoes better than you know, and you look ravishing."<p>

"Thank you," Maria returned, feeling comforted for Max's praise. She was not quite sure how it had happened, but she and Max had become fast friends in the past months, much to Georg's annoyance, but she was glad for it. For all that her new husband complained about his friend's many undesirable qualities, the friendship was deep and true, and Max's loyalty and affection had naturally extended to Maria.

Indeed, Georg had been worried when Maria and Max hit it off so splendidly that his old friend viewed her simply as a malleable tool to do his bidding and persuade Georg to go along with one of his harebrained schemes, but it soon became clear that Maria, while more willing to indulge Max in his crazy schemes than was Georg, could more than hold her own. This had, in fact, been Georg's first indicator that she was more than able to fill the role thrust upon her with aplomb and grace.

"Maria, I wondered if you might speak to Georg about my little idea, see if you can't butter him up a little."

"And to what 'little idea' are you referring, Max?" Maria asked, an interested but skeptical eyebrow raised. "You know how he feels about your attempts at coercion."

"The von Trapp Family Singers, of course," Max exclaimed. "You cannot tell me you do not see the potential! You know as well as I how talented those children are."

Maria was quiet for a while, appearing to consider the issue over her steepled fingers. Finally, she spoke. "I agree. There could be much gain from this family singing group. But I happen to know that Georg expressly forbids it, viewing the idea not only as gratuitous, but as an exploitation of his children."

"They seemed willing enough when I initially suggested it," Max wheedled.

"Yes, well," Maria countered, "since when do children know what would be best for them? Say the venture succeeded: they would become famous in their own right, not just proxies of their father's reputation. Most—no, all of them are too young to understand the trappings of fame. And if the venture failed, they would be simply crushed."

"I would see to it that every bit of potential is realized, Maria."

"Be that as it may, Max, you cannot honestly say that your motives are pure. That is what galls Georg most."

"At least I am honest that I am dishonest," Max muttered, becoming flustered under Maria's appraising gaze.

Lip twitching, Maria nodded in acknowledgment. "And we are both grateful for that. But the bottom line is that my fiancé, all other reasons aside, simply does not want his children in the public eye, and that should be reason enough."

"It just seems rather silly to waste such potential."

From his position outside the doorway, Georg could see that Maria's eyes had flashed dangerously at this statement.

"I think that I and Georg both have been sufficiently patient to explain why this is unallowable. Please don't test that, Max. You are too good a friend to him. And to me."

Max sighed, nodding his head. "I won't concede defeat, but I see you can't be swayed. I'll just find some other way."

Maria laughed at this, saying heartily, "_Viel Glück_, Max Detweiler. May your head remain intact on your shoulders for it!"

"I assure you, my dear, I am quite fond of my head!"

Yes, that had been the moment where Georg knew Maria could handle herself. He had seen more sophisticated, knowledgeable women fall to pieces under Max's seductive charm. If only Max knew how to use it to entice the right sorts, he might actually be a successful talent agent, and very wealthy for it. But as Maria had just shown, he still hadn't found the precise knack he needed—or circumstance, he wasn't sure which—to be consistently successful.

"Once you have danced with your Captain, I would be honored to be your next dance partner," Max murmured.

"Consider yourself penned in on my dance card yesterday," Maria grinned as Max was hustled along so as to keep the congratulatory line moving.

"I will hold you to that!" he cried before turning toward the hors d'oeuvres and champagne already flowing generously about the reception hall.

"You'd best hope he gets too drunk to remember that," Georg said to her under his breath, a wicked sparkle in his eye. "He is a horrid dancer."

"Don't be uncharitable!" Maria exclaimed, earning a laugh from the man she was simultaneously greeting.

"My felicitations, Baroness," the man said, "and trust the Captain's word on this! I have witnessed the atrocity myself. Fun to watch. Nightmarish to partake in."

Maria simply shook her head, smiling.

The day passed in a blur, as if someone had put it on a film reel and sped it all up but for a few choice moments. The first had been when Maria was sitting quietly in the chapel that morning while the sisters around her all prayed. She had knelt with them, but felt bound in an unbreakable vise, unable to think clearly or articulate much at all. The second was when she had looked up from her bouquet at the church gates and found Georg's gaze. Time had stood still, then, and suddenly the masses surrounding her were gone. He was all there was to the world. The third was when he had kissed her. Not so passionately as when he said good night to her yesterday evening, but intimate enough to demonstrate his claim on her, and his comfort in so doing. The fourth was when the familiar strains of the _Ländler_ began and he took her hand, leading her through the dance, this time to completion. The world had simply fallen away. And the entirety of the reception hall had stopped what they were doing, breath bated, to watch the couple. The fifth, and final moment, so incredibly special to her, was a number the children had prepared to perform just for their parents.

Their song of choice was her beloved mountain _Lied_, which they had harmonized to perfection, and they had done a sort of reenacted dance, illustrating the song beautifully with each glorious line, from the life in the hills to the flying birds to the praying larks and babbling brooks. Each aspect was carefully considered, and breathtakingly executed. When the display ended, Maria found she had tears in her eyes, and Georg was holding her fast against him, warm and steady. The applause from the guests was thunderous. The hugs Maria gave were bone-crushing. The love she felt in that moment transcended every little problem that had plagued her in the past weeks, and it was the first time she felt truly contented, cut for the task ahead of her.

"I think we're in the clear, my love," Georg had whispered to her afterward, them both watching as the children dispersed into the crowd once more. "Of course, an apology and discussion might be nice, but…"

"For now, that was more than adequate," Maria finished with a nod. "I'm impressed that they kept that from us!"

"To be fair, we did spend a great deal of time in Vienna this past month."

"Yes, but Liesl was my chaperone, so it's not as though they had complete rein to practice with her gone."

"Perhaps all that time we thought they were shut up in their rooms, they were actually gathered somewhere planning this whole thing."

"The ballroom doors did seem to be closed often…" Maria trailed. "The foxes! Right under our noses!" But she was laughing, and accepted the champagne that Georg handed to her, toasting their children together.

"I shall have to thank Frau Schmidt for the idea to host the reception here in the Hotel Salzach," Maria said much later. "I cannot imagine having traveled home and then back here. She is worth her weight in gold."

"And I have to admit, I am glad she put a stop to my plans to leave for Paris immediately afterward, resentful though I felt at the time. This has been a wonderful day, love. And it shall be a wonderful night. We can afford to take our time, not be in any great hurry… and the tickets to Paris are actually an open date. Honestly, if you prefer to drive, we can even do that instead."

Maria blushed readily at her husband's somewhat uninhibited reference to their marital consummation soon to come, but she endeavored to reply. "As much as I like a long drive, we have spent so much time in automobiles of late… I think I should rather like to see this lavish suite you've booked for the train, Georg. I am curious!"

"That curiosity will get you into a world of trouble, Maria," Georg said seriously.

"Oh, I do not doubt it," Maria said, equally straight. "Nor do I find myself particularly caring."

Even with his mind somewhat clouded by alcohol, Georg gazed at his new wife in wonder, unable to process the unvarnished truth that it was he who had uncovered all this buried treasure that was her heartily flirtatious attitude. She had grown better at accepting his compliments, and had revealed myriad responses to such as she became more comfortable with it. Slowly, yet steadily, the full portrait was being exposed, and he was amazed.


	3. Part I: Chapter 2

Stowe, Vermont  
>April 1945<p>

Knocking on the door, Maria entered the guest bedroom when she heard Max Detweiler's invitation to do so. She was carrying a breakfast tray for him, filled to bursting with fresh berries, hardboiled eggs, bread, cheese, milk, and coffee.

Setting the meal on his lap, Maria plumped his pillows and cast an assessing eye over him.

"Ah, I know that look well," Max joked, picking up his fork.

"You look much better already," Maria said, ignoring his attempt at humor. "How do you feel?"

"Still constantly tired," Max said, breaking his bread. "But I think I will join the family for dinner tonight. I can manage that much. You needn't serve me around the clock, Maria."

"On the contrary," Maria said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Most of my children are grown now. They don't need me like they once did. I have much less to handle now, and I have had years to work out a system!"

"Yes, but you do work, my dear," Max said gently. "And it is needed."

"Honestly? It's all the same to me. There is not much I don't enjoy."

"Do you still sing? Do the children?"

At this, Maria smiled. "Now I know you are feeling more yourself when you start to harp on the family's singing!" Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Maria patted Max's hand. "Yes, we still sing. The children are in the church choir and I occasionally cantor. It turns out that all my Latin was good for something! If you feel up to it, come to services with us tomorrow."

"Does Georg attend?" Max questioned, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"He does," Maria nodded. "When we first came here, he was bitter. It took him a long time to join us. But before our first year here in the States was up, he was coming to services every Sunday. I know it was not easy for him, and I am proud of his strength. I do believe his soul is truly comforted by it, all these years later."

"And there are no babies you're hiding from me?"

Maria chuckled, shrugging. "If you were anyone else, I would slap you for the impertinence. But no. Perhaps when the war is through."

"That could take years," Max said quietly. "Especially if Hitler invades Russia and succeeds."

"Haven't you heard the news on the wireless?" Maria asked curiously. Then, she realized her gaffe. "Oh, how insensitive of me! I'm sorry. You've been traveling and now bedridden. Of course you don't know!" Taking a breath, Maria explained, "German troops have been surrendering all month. And this morning, it was announced that Benito Mussolini was executed. Italy has fallen. I doubt that Adolf Hitler will try such a folly again, with his greatest ally gone. And as we speak, Soviet forces are waging battle in Berlin."

Max had gone white at this revelation. "Perhaps there is a God," he trailed.

"Perhaps there will be an end," Maria said quietly.

The two sat in silence for a while, lost in their own respective worlds. Eventually, Max began to eat once more, and when he had cleared his tray, Maria removed it and promised to return with a pot of tea for him. But once she was back in the kitchen, running hot water for the breakfast dishes and putting a kettle of fresh water on the stove, Maria began to cry.

To say she and Georg had been surprised by Max's telegram summoning them to Ellis Island was nothing to the shock they felt when they finally saw their friend again. He was gaunt, his black hair had gone white, and he was all but unrecognizable. A human skeleton walking. And yet it seemed he was one of the lucky ones.

He refused to say a word to them yet of his ordeal, and as things stood, it appeared he never would. He neatly deflected every attempt at conversation about himself back onto the goings on of the von Trapps. All they knew is that he desperately needed a sponsor to vouch for him or he would be shipped back to Europe, political asylum be damned. It was by some small miracle that the telegraph operator knew where the von Trapps were living, and so the plea had been sent. And the plea had been met.

But those few days in New York City still felt like some sort of sick joke to Maria. Even when her own family had needed to go through the process of entering the United States, it had not seemed such an ordeal as it was proving for Max. Just his aged appearance and general impression of sickness made it hard to argue against the accusations of records falsifications, but eventually reason had prevailed, and the necessary proof and examinations had been obtained. Max was now a political refugee in the care of the von Trapp family, and if Maria had anything to do with it, he would not be going anywhere soon.

"You're family," she'd said that afternoon, jaw set stubbornly.

He was on the mend, now, but Maria was not fooled. It would take weeks, months, or possibly even years, for Max to regain full strength. His hair might be snowy until the day he died. He might never shake off that aura of disease he seemed to carry with him now. He had been in good spirits when Georg and Maria found him in his holding cell, but just the drive back to Vermont had drained him, and he slept through the remainder of that day and most of the next. The children had been insatiable, pelting their parents with all sorts of questions that they could not answer, and as it was, the burning curiosity remained.

Grateful that it was a Saturday, Maria finished with the breakfast dishes and set to folding several loads of freshly washed and starched linens. Gretl had done the ironing for her the previous afternoon. The linens were typically a ritual in themselves, stored in various parts of the house instead of simply being sent upstairs in hampers for the children to put away themselves, as their clothes most often were.

She had saved her own bed sheets for last, and found herself somewhat startled when she entered the master bedroom to stow them away in the top shelf of the armoire. Her husband was not, as she had thought, out inspecting the trees or working on his correspondence in the study. He was instead sitting atop their massive bed, dressed in nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms, reading a book and sipping wine while reclined against the mass of pillows, his legs crossed at the ankle.

"My," Maria laughed, "you do seem content, Georg. It is almost a pity I have interrupted you."

Looking over to his wife, Georg grinned cheekily. "Indeed it is a pity."

Turning from the armoire, which she had just shut with a thud, bed linens in their proper place, Maria moved to take his glass of wine from him and marked his page before closing the book and setting it on the bedside table. She climbed onto the bed and removed his reading glasses, murmuring, "I do love these. They make you look ever more distinguished. But…"

The glasses found their home atop his book as Maria leaned in to kiss her husband. "I did say 'almost' a pity."

Silly grin on his face, Georg reciprocated the kiss, a steadying hand on the glass of wine that remained between them. "Careful, love," he murmured, nuzzling her face and neck. "Wouldn't want to have to scrub this out."

"In that case," Maria decided, pulling from the embrace, "I'll simply finish it now." And she gamely drained the wineglass, which was still two-thirds full.

Watching this display, Georg found himself greatly admiring the slope of her neck as she tilted her head back, tender flesh of her neck exposed. The curve of her breasts as her back arched slightly, thrusting them forward. Her hair had begun to fall from its loosely braided coil…

Before he could help himself, Georg extracted the empty wineglass from a very satisfied Maria, who was wearing an expression of utter mirth, and pulled her to him, kissing every inch of her skin he could reach, fingers working through the length of braid to free her hair. When his lips met hers, he could taste the sweet red wine on her breath, and he wanted her desperately.

"Do you think anyone guesses," Georg whispered in her ear, nipping at the nape of her neck, now, "that I happily take you for my own tens of times in a given week?"

Maria laughed a deep, throaty laugh. "I admit sometimes I scarcely believe it. Then again," she mused, "I suppose I do have to claim some responsibility for that. About fifty percent of the time, wouldn't you say?"

Her house dress and slip were gone now, along with stockings and shoes. The only thing left to remove—her underthings. But the panties she wore gave Georg pause.

"What is it, love?" Maria questioned, dragging light, teasing fingers over his bare chest.

He hadn't seen these in years. She hadn't worn them since their honeymoon. He hadn't even known she'd kept them. The sight, contrasting her nature then as a young, innocent, but eager bride to her nature now as a full-fledged, mature woman happy to glory in her sexuality as she saw fit—it made him hard almost all at once. He swallowed. "Correct me if I'm wrong…"

Maria glanced down at her lap and smirked. "Oh, this? You recognize it, then."

"How could I not? I chose them for you."

Made of the finest white silk lace, the slip of a garment looked as though it had survived its many travels without so much as a snag.

With a puckish sparkle in her eye, Maria divulged, "If they couldn't be safely stowed away, I was wearing them."

Remembering how the little ones especially liked to riff through Maria's things when they were bored and temperamental, and how there had been scarcely a hint of Maria's most racy intimates amongst her personal effects at moments when lack of privacy was at its height, Georg had simply assumed she had reasonably left every nonessential thing behind. She only carried a mid-sized valise while traveling, and had chosen several of her favored items from the bridal trousseau to pack away with his own things.

And though their love life had settled into a pace worthy of jealousy in these past years, it hadn't always been that way, especially not when they were in Switzerland. In the rare moments that they _did _enjoy sex, little disrobing had been necessary to begin with, as those moments tended to be punctuated strongly by frustrated longing begging to be satiated after such a luxurious six weeks in Paris. A luxury that had come to a screeching halt.

Maria would never forget how she and her beloved were curled up on the divan reading poetry to one another when the phone rang and Georg absently answered, assuming it was room service. Instead, it was Max, calling to say the Anschluss had come.

Georg had said nothing, only staring blankly at the phone in his hand as though catatonic. At Maria's prodding, he returned it to its cradle, then bundled his wife into his arms. She followed his silent cues, sensing it would be best not to speak, but merely be.

Within minutes, he had shut them in their bedroom and positively redefined what it meant to ravish and be ravished. Afterward, an arm draped over his wife's sweaty, heaving chest, legs still entangled with hers, he had sobbed as though the world had ended—uncontrolled, wild howls of utter disbelief. Somewhat bewildered, though still caught up in the raw need of his actions, the answer Maria sought came to her: their homeland was no more. This man, so strong, so stoic. This man, who had given his everything and made untold sacrifices for his country. This man, who had watched the empire dismantle bit by bit through his life. This man, who held onto the one remaining piece of proof that his life's work and actions had not been for naught. This man, whom she loved completely and utterly, was so lost.

And so, married only six weeks, it had been Maria's turn to be the bulwark and comfort. Never before or since had Georg von Trapp bared his soul so completely to her, and though the sorrow seeped from his every pore and filled Maria with incredible sadness, she could admit to herself now that she had experienced a small spark of joy in this moment. She never dared speak it aloud, but it was so obvious. She had heard and learned much while in Paris, and it was clear that the Nazi regime liked to collect things. Collect valuable things. Her husband's renown reached widely. They would want him to return to sea. They would command it. And he would refuse.

With this refusal would come utter destruction of life as he and their children knew it. They would be poor, common. Refugees. It was a life understood by Maria most intimately. And though she was disappointed, in a manner of speaking, that all she had learned, been taught, and subsequently utilized to impressive ends as the new Baroness von Trapp, Maria had felt a settled peace in her heart that her husband could not fathom in this moment.

He fell asleep in his wife's arms that night, her stroking his face and running fingers through his hair until his unsteady breathing evened and he fell into a slumber. He woke several times through the night, crying out and paralyzed with fear, and Maria, lost for any other response, would draw him close once more, kiss him, and lay a hand over his heart as she murmured a soft, comforting _Lied_ by Schubert to him, waiting for the wild beating to subside as he settled down once more.

He did not speak of the previous night upon waking, but merely said to Maria, "We must go home." And she had nodded, simply climbing out of bed to start a shower for him and fetch their luggage. When Georg emerged from the shower, it was to find all of their most important things already packed and a traveling suit laid out for him. She was dressed and waiting, looking a good deal more collected than he felt. Pretty as a picture, with her suit top buttoned, a scarf tucked into the collar, and the brooch he'd gotten her in Vienna peeking out innocently from her cleavage, hair well-coifed considering she hadn't the opportunity to set it. Warm, welcoming, and completely woman. Her composure stunned him momentarily.

"Come, my darling," Maria said softly, holding out a hand to him from where she sat perched on the end of their bed. "Dress quickly so we can get to the train station. I have ordered a taxi to pick us up in twenty minutes' time, and phoned Franz to have him pick us up in Salzburg early this evening. The rest of our things will be sent on by hotel staff."

Overwhelmed by his wife's quick acceptance of the situation at hand, and her skilled management of things Georg had scarcely been able to think of, he took her proffered hand and drew her into a tight embrace, inhaling the sweet-spicy scent of her perfume. "I'll only be a few minutes," he promised, though it was so incredibly hard to let go. Going back would mean his world _had_ changed overnight, that this was not some awful nightmare from which he had yet to awaken.

And this nightmare had carried on without relent for eight long years. But in spite of that, they were happy. Very happy, Georg knew, as he observed his wife's naked body now before him. It was not the most charmed, orderly, nor strictly most fulfilling life a man could lead, but just to have this woman by his side every day and seven healthy, happy children was enough.

He sometimes had a reoccurring dream in which he and Maria were walking through the gardens at the villa in Aigen, but they were not young any longer. He was white-haired and decrepit, leaning heavily on his wife to support him, and she, though aged, was still so incredibly beautiful, her hair graying but still soft and thick, laugh lines and wrinkles leaving their marks on her face. She would pluck a beautiful blood-red rose from the bushes in their path, breathe in its scent, smile contentedly, and tuck it in his shirt pocket. She would whisper that she loved him more than life itself, seat him on a garden bench just beyond the primroses, kiss his forehead, and promise that she dreamed of him always. And then she would say goodbye and close the garden gate, and he knew he would see her beyond the dawn, resplendent in all its breathtaking glory.

Perhaps it was a morbid dream to have, but when things made the least sense, that dream provided sorely-needed perspective. He would invariably wake from the dream clutching Maria to him tightly, reflexively loosen his grasp, and then bury his face in her neck, falling back to sleep as he inhaled her faint scent, still as heady to him as the first time he had drawn her close to him in the midst of the _Ländler_.

He made sweet love to his wife with that dance in mind, unable to fathom everything that raced through his mind before the inevitable barrage of pure emotion took over his mental faculties and hers. He only just managed to remember that Max was recuperating from some unknowable ordeal not very far away when Maria cried out in complete rapture, but it had been too late to muffle the sounds of her passion anyway, so he did not bother, and simply did his level best to reduce her to utter incoherency. He did exercise just enough self-restraint so not as to put her out of commission for lunch—and himself, for that matter—but on the whole, he was perfectly happy to listen to her rambling sweet nothings and whimpering as he teased her to climax again and again without relenting and allowing it again so quickly.

He knew if he was not most careful, she would grow more frustrated than enticed, and thus start her own campaign of merciless pleasure inflicted on him with incredible control meant to make him beg. She was absolutely consummate in this game of give and take, and though she often started under him, she very nearly always came out on top. If she was feeling particularly frisky, she would often bookend this state of affairs with a risqué dash of impulsivity. That Georg was more experienced than she when they married had meant absolutely nothing in terms of her reserve. She had never been shy… merely tentative. And once it had been tapped appropriately and consistently, she was all but insatiable.

"Maria, I was listening to the wireless this morning," Georg huffed, thrusting deep inside her, letting her bind her legs around him, and they turned with practiced ease so that he was laying on his back and she was kneeling over him, preparing to sheath him fully within her and do nothing but flex her muscles around his member. If he wanted to talk right now… he at least deserved this sweet affliction, she decided with a lazy grin down at him.

"Yes?"

"Perhaps we might begin to pace ourselves more in accordance with making a baby."

Maria let her face fall, belying the fact that she was quite enjoying her task at hand.

"Ah…" Georg groaned. She was a devil! "I know you don't feel comfortable," he attempted to explain himself, breathing becoming ragged as Maria's hands pressed into his chest and her internal rhythm was established, "but it seems the war…"

"Is coming to an end?" Maria nodded, relaxing her body. "I had thought of that. Max asked… I haven't thought about it in years," she said honestly. "Though not being ravished when I desire you the most is certainly becoming an old hat."

"You should let my faculties… recuperate," Georg choked out faintly. Maria was grinning at him again, muscles hard at work. With a rumbling laugh that came deep from her belly and nearly rendered Georg unconscious, Maria remarked, "I did think you were absolutely daft, and the good doctor, too—but it has served us well, after all!"

"I do mean it, love," Georg tried to impress. But Maria was a long ways from willing to discuss the topic at the moment, and she shut down further talk with a particularly strong spasm and an amorous kiss, clearly intent on other matters.

An hour later, pressed up against her husband, one hand tracing through his chest hair, Maria said, "I will put the diaphragm away tomorrow."

Tightening his embrace around her, Georg murmured, "Thank you."

Good humor of the previous hour gone, Maria nodded and fell silent. This was serious business, after all, she mused, and she did wonder if their "luck" in not falling pregnant was more a reflection of her inability to do so… after all, six weeks in Paris had resulted in absolutely nothing, not even a missed cycle, and upon arriving in America and obtaining a contraceptive device, their diligence had fallen away somewhat, though she never found herself particularly bothered by it. As if sheer willpower alone would stopper the conception of a child. There was no way to know if the precautions they'd taken in these last six years were completely reliable, but there had been one conversation with a dear friend that she had taken to heart in spite of herself.

* * *

><p>Stowe, Vermont<br>February 1942

"Auch!" Maria cried, sucking on her thumb forcefully.

Laverne Stiles looked up from the tablecloth she was hemming and chuckled. "It doesn't matter how many pieces you've sewn; it seems that the shock of being pricked by a sharp needle never goes away!" Reaching over to hand Maria a handkerchief, she asked, "Are you quite alright?"

Accepting the handkerchief from her friend and eyeing the needle she'd dropped to her lap with slight disdain, Maria nodded. "Yes, it just stings. And it startled me." Smoothing out the christening gown, she muttered, "I do hope I did not get any blood on this; I would hate to have to rip it up and start anew."

Watching as Maria examined the neckline of the tiny gown, Laverne asked curiously, "Who is that for? You, perhaps?"

Looking up quickly, Maria shook her head. "Oh, no. We actually managed to bring several of the children's christening gowns with us from Austria. My husband was most insistent on it." Bending back over the gown, bleeding staunched, Maria resumed her sewing of meticulous little stitches into the collar. "This is for one of the new mothers that lives in the village."

"It's a miracle that one can afford such craftsmanship in these hard times," Laverne observed. "I am sure those materials did not come cheaply."

"The woman who ordered this actually brought us the material herself. We supplemented it with some lace that we keep in storage for special things like christening or wedding gowns. It isn't on display."

"Mm, I can see why. It is most exquisite; it must be reserved for the very best of work."

"It will make a wonderful family heirloom," Maria said modestly, darting around the obvious compliments that the doctor's wife was paying her work.

"And what of you? Don't you want your own gown?"

It was the flash of fear and annoyance that flitted in Maria's eyes momentarily that startled Laverne, as it was in direct contrast with what came from Maria's mouth: "Certainly."

Perhaps she was struggling to conceive, Laverne thought. Feeling chagrined for having pushed Maria, Laverne said quietly, "I hope I don't speak out of turn. But if you are hurting or upset, please know I will not betray your confidence. I might also be able to provide you with some sort of useful advice, if you like."

Maria paused at this, setting down the christening gown slowly. She stuck the needle through the collar and placed her hands in her lap. Squaring her shoulders, Maria said, "Don't mistake me. One day I would like nothing more than to have a child, a child by the man I love more than anything in this world. But the uncertainty and fear, Laverne… in Austria, I mean. Peace was promised, but before we were even married, I knew in my heart that Georg von Trapp could not stand to remain in a land under Nazi control. He spoke stubbornly of Austria as it was, and of how it was disappearing in front of him. He never spoke of trying to make a new life under a new regime."

"So… it was not a matter of if, but when?"

Maria nodded. "I remember so much of what I learned in the months of our betrothal feeling as a sort of prelude to disaster. Oh, in those upper society circles, they cling to their wealth and their status as though they are untouchable. I do not like to dwell on it, but I remember how hard the Great War was. How bitter. I was tiny, and I remember. The end months and aftermath, especially. It is impressed upon my memory forever. I couldn't bear the thought of bringing a child into that, then. And here we are, four years later, and there is still no end. It is true that we are quite comfortable. It is true that we are doing well. But look at what happened—Americans least expected it, and the Japanese attacked their base in Hawaii just a few months ago!"

"When you came here, did you think you might try to have a child?"

Frankly, Maria said, "No, at first, neither of us thought of it. There was so much to do, so much to settle. I began to work for Mrs. Higgins as soon as it was established that my English was acceptable. Georg decided to try to find work in the capital or New York City, even. He was away often. Eventually, though, he came home to stay, absolutely burning with excitement to try to make a lucrative business out of our maple trees." Quirking a smile, Maria said, "I still don't quite understand the draw, especially for a man whose life's passion is the sea, but it drew him out of his well of despair better than anything else could have. And so we thought we might begin to expand our brood, but it wasn't six months later that the Japanese attacked, and I felt that paralyzing fear once again."

"I see…" Laverne said quietly. "You mentioned the Austrian nobility. Your marriage must have caused… quite the stir. A good deal of talk. Rumors. And there were Adolf Hitler's designs on Austria."

Grateful that her friend had picked up on everything Maria had chosen not to say, she merely nodded tightly. "I nearly did not marry Georg for those rumors. I felt so utterly inadequate, and sometimes even... dirty."

"Surely not!" Laverne cried. "You and the Captain are so well-suited to each other, it's almost frightening! Maria, just watching the two of you together… it blesses my heart beyond words. You are so in love with each other, and not like schoolchildren. It is deep, abiding love. The kind of love that most merely dream of!"

Ruefully, Maria said, "At the time, it was hard to stomach the fact that these people meant to be a new part of my life believed and circulated the most unsavory vitriol. I cannot count how often I received snide remarks or hints about carrying his lovechild. It grew to a point where all I wanted was to defy them utterly and call it all off."

"No," Laverne gasped. "Surely you realized that—"

"That doing so would mean they had won?" Maria finished. "No. All I could see was pure spite. Georg, however, saw the situation for what it was, and bless him… he did not make me feel obligated to do anything, and his solution was to bolster my support system, with a promise that if this measure failed, I could choose to delay or call off everything. That is perhaps the moment where I fully realized the depth of his love for me, and his torment at the fact that marriage to him was drawing me into a world that I could navigate with time and practice, but might never transcend in those circles beyond being a simple mountain girl who ditched the cloistered life and very likely had taken up as her employer's mistress."

Clucking her tongue, Laverne shook her head, saying, "I cannot possibly fathom that… you are yourself, and yet you _are_ a baroness! I would bet my life's savings and my husband's that you are absolutely regal amongst the cream of the crop."

"The great irony, I suppose," Maria laughed darkly. "I did offer to be his mistress, in that low moment where I was ready to toss everything aside and be done with it. He would not hear of it."

"I daresay," Laverne said with a knowing glance, "that you may still find yourself amazed by that."

Maria swallowed. "Yes. I had no idea desire could run so deep that it reaches a place beyond passion. He did. And he was the chivalrous, darling gentleman. I was willing to give him everything, and he refused."

"As much as I hate to repeat the words of Lucille Roberts, Maria," Laverne said with a shudder, "your husband really is a 'catch.' Sometimes I watch him during Mass, and he just looks like he falls so deep into his thoughts, yet he is so utterly aware of you and your children."

"Mmm, don't I know it," Maria chuckled lightly. "He broods."

"Well, a bit of unsolicited advice, then, as we Americans are now deep in a war… I take it you track your cycle as best as possible?"

Maria nodded. "Yes. Religiously."

"Then I'm sure you've made the connection that the height of desire usually occurs when conception is most likely."

Unabashed, Maria turned this observation over in her mind. "One married woman to another?"

"Of course."

"With the exception of a particularly bad day or foul mood, my desire doesn't tend to ebb, much. Prolonged… deprivation only tends to heighten it."

"Well," Laverne said matter-of-factly, her position as the doctor's wife allowing her to accept this information without ruffled feathers, "you might consider a newly popular contraceptive device. I could order it for you through my husband. It is not fool-proof, of course, but it acts as a barrier, and might provide a level of added security, as you're so certain you would rather not have a child."

Maria bit her lip, simultaneously wanting to know more about this device and also flooding with guilt at the thought of further inhibiting one of the God-ordained purposes of sexual intimacy. "I… I am interested," she ventured, "though I think I should discuss it with my husband first. He does not say so, but it is already difficult for him, wanting dearly to have a child that is part he and I, but wanting to respect my reservations also."

Gazing at the young woman before her, Laverne Stiles was awed by the mutual respect this wife and husband held for each other. "You wouldn't be particularly upset if you were to fall pregnant today, would you?" It was more statement than question.

Running her fingers through her hair, Maria admitted, "I would love it. We're not getting any younger. I could not possibly fathom having done all we had to do in the past few years if I was with child and then toting an infant around everywhere. I certainly would not be able to work for Mrs. Higgins the way I do. So, I suppose that, so far, my plans and God's plans have aligned. But if the two were to diverge… I would worry, to be sure. But I would be assured that God's will surpasses my own understanding and absolutely smother the child with love. As would Georg."

With a shrewd smile, Laverne said, "I suppose I would not be far off the mark if I were to guess that your reticence also would be assuaged in full if your family were to return to Austria one day and everything you had to show for your scandalous affair with the great Baron von Trapp was a child or two born comfortably and indisputably within the marriage bed."

Having the grace to blush, at the very least, Maria conceded. "It would give me great pleasure."

"As I thought."


	4. Part I: Chapter 3

Paris, France  
>October 1937<p>

* * *

><p>Deep into their second bottle of champagne, Georg groaned loudly at the ringing of the door buzzer, and Maria laughed, somewhat more steady on her feet, reaching out to push her husband back down into his chair.<p>

"Don't. I will get it."

"It's probably just another damn invitation to some party or other," Georg mumbled, watching as his wife sashayed her way from the balcony with a teasing glance back at her husband.

She returned a few minutes later, a fistful of invitations and telegrams in hand. Flipping through them, she made a noise of disapproval. "You would think a massive wedding in Salzburg would be enough of an indication that we would like to spend a few months ignoring the world, but alas."

Gesturing for the mail, Georg took it from Maria and tossed it into the parlor, the different pieces scattering all over the floor. "There," he said emphatically. "We can sort those out in the morning."

"And tonight?" Maria asked, a sparkle in her eye.

"Tonight," Georg pronounced, "I want to finish this champagne, ravish my wife, and sleep through the nasty hangover that is bound to ensue."

Going to sit on his lap, Maria took the champagne flute from her husband and shook her head. "Oh, no you don't. I want you good and well tomorrow morning so we can go to the Louvre and see the art exhibits."

"What do you propose we do with this, then?" Georg complained, trying to snatch the drink away from her.

"I think," Maria said, swirling the alcohol around, "that I will finish this, and put the cork back in our bottle. We can finish it at our picnic lunch tomorrow. Or have you forgotten?"

"No," he said, though he watched with an expression of regret as his wife carried out her edicts.

"I promise you, my love, you will thank me in the morning, and tonight you will first drink your way through several pitchers of water, and then you may ravish me."

"Mm, what if we ravish each other, darling?"

Maria blushed, but held his gaze. "I would like that." She squirmed her way from his grasp a moment later, and bustled about, gathering water goblets and a pitcher of iced water. She brought it back to their little table on the balcony and resumed her seat across from her husband.

"I made you uncomfortable," Georg stated, gaze piercing through her.

"Nonsense," Maria waved, but he cut her off.

"I am aware of my slightly drunken state, Maria, and it gives me a somewhat looser tongue and less introspective nature, but I know this as truth: you are put off by what I said. About ravishing each other. I meant it, you know."

"Yes," Maria faltered. "Yes, I know you meant it."

"I know you love to be ravished," Georg said matter-of-factly. "I make you scream. I set you on fire. I make you feel things so raw and deep that you cannot resist. I have made love to you in nighttime and daytime, in moonlight and sunshine. You delight in it. I delight in your delight. You have captivated my heart."

Maria's cheeks were so warm that she was sure they were crimson. But she could not tear her gaze from her beloved, and burst out, "That's just it! I have no hope of bringing you to the level of passion and ecstasy you so easily bring to me! I want to do that for you, I want it so bad I can taste it. It is as strong as my own desire to have your body in mine, Georg!"

Georg listened to Maria's entreaty, blinking hard at what she had just revealed.

"I am a thoughtless boar."

Horrified, Maria shook her head fiercely. "No, Georg! Not at all! Forget I said anything, it was foolish of me!"

"No," Georg countered, "no, it is not foolish, Maria."

At loss for words, Maria simply sat there, feeling guilty for having guilted him and making a muck of what had so far been a lovely night.

"It is not foolish, because in my eagerness to show you how much I love you, my darling, I took complete pleasure in that without thinking that you might feel underprepared in comparison. I haven't done well enough in helping you to know how to please me, I see that now."

"Oh, but you have!" Maria cried, trying desperately to salvage the situation. "I just don't feel like my own confidence and… sense of direction measures up to what you are able to evoke within me. I feel I am a rank amateur when it comes to… 'ravishing.'"

"You are the complete opposite, Maria. If only you knew what you do to me…"

"That's it," she cried, "precisely that! I _don't_ know and I _want_ to know so that I can go about pleasing you as deliberately and thoroughly as you do me!"

"Oh, I think you know," Georg said quietly. "I see your smirks and you look ever so much like the cat who ate the canary when you know you've hit your mark."

"Yes, well, most of the time that has been sheer luck, or simply the ease of exciting you in the heat of the moment!"

"Ahh," Georg uttered. "Eureka!"

Quirking a brow at him, Maria said with frustration, "Georg, I would appreciate if we did not play games right now!"

"No games, love," Georg reassured, reaching out to grasp her wrists. "But listen to me: you are overthinking it. You said it yourself: you find what works because we're caught up in each other, and sometimes just get lucky. That 'luck' of yours has been employed repeatedly with great success, Maria, don't you think?"

Maria opened her mouth, about to argue, then closed it, realizing what he meant. It had been accidental, her hands brushing his genitals, and her kisses hitting some intensely erogenous spot of his body, and the gentle bites to his nipples as she was working her way across his chest in the heat of passion. And she had deliberately repeated each of these things, wondering if it would elicit such a strong reaction as the time before. It always did.

"I see…"

"I hope you do, love, because you've otherwise put me in quite a compromising position, being so headstrong and argumentative, as you often are."

Maria tore her gaze from the point above his shoulder at which she was staring blankly, attempting to process what precisely she thought of all this, and when she looked at her husband's face, she saw that he was wearing a self-satisfied grin that aligned itself quite nicely with the Cheshire Cat.

"May I ravish you now?" he asked. "You've gone and seduced me, Baroness."

A slight whimper rose in Maria's throat, and she found she could not resist. "We will ravish each other," she corrected.

The following morning, Georg woke to find Maria already wide awake, sitting cross-legged on top of the blankets next to him and deeply engrossed in what looked like a tourist guide, her blue silk robe draped around her naked frame.

"Mmm, I thought you might be reading that _Kama Sutra_ volume," Georg said, teasingly.

But Maria wasn't fazed, and merely said "hmmm" while pulling a pencil from behind her right ear so as to mark some particularly interesting place in the booklet.

"You aren't the least bit curious?" he prodded.

Huffing, Maria's bangs fluttered as she looked up from her task, and she said, "Maybe one day, but I think having you for a lover is plenty to handle without the aid of _that book_. And I would _like_ to see Paris at some point before we leave here, if you can imagine that!"

"I have taken you to numerous dinners and soirees and shows and operas!" Georg insisted.

"Yes, all at _night_, silly, except when we bought Brigitta's birthday gift." Tucking her hair behind her ears, Maria leaned down to kiss her husband good morning. "I would like to see this city during the day, and I might even be persuaded to buy a new dress or two."

"But Paris is _La Ville-Lumière_!" Georg said. "It comes alive at night!"

"Be that as it may, this is my first time ever out of the country, and I would like to see some of the infamous landmarks and artwork here, Georg!" With that, Maria tapped him smartly on the nose and went to dress. "I ordered breakfast a while ago, yours is out in the parlor," she called from the bathroom, where she had started a shower.

Georg sighed, knowing that it was nothing but the truth that motivated Maria to move from the bed, so he slipped into his slippers and tied his robe, seeking out his breakfast and morning papers. "How does the Eiffel Tower sound to you?" he called as he buttered some toast and skimmed the headlines. So far, nothing of note…

"Yes, and the Louvre! And some art museums!"

"I'll call a cab for us," he responded, digging into his fruit.

"No, let's walk! It's a beautiful day, love." Maria had finished her shower already and was pulling a brush through her wet hair as she came out into the parlor area. "It won't take long to dry and set my hair, so do hurry. I let you sleep too late."

Unwilling to admit that he had something of a headache, Georg merely shrugged, shaking out the first section of _Le Monde_. "Give me a few minutes to finish eating, and I'll be ready before you can say '_auf Wiedersehen_.'"

"Ha, ha, very funny," said Maria, but she was wearing a big smile.

Several hours later, they found themselves atop the Eiffel Tower, and Maria was positively enraptured by it.

"Ooooh," she exclaimed, "it's an awful lot like observing the villages from the Untersberg, only it's a city beneath us!" One hand to her head, where she was attempting to keep her hat secure, she added, "it's just about as windy, too!"

Georg, who hadn't anticipated a windy chill, had left his hat in their hotel room, thinking they would return after several hours and a lovely picnic lunch by the Seine, but Maria had her heart set on the climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower, and as luck would have it, they were quite alone.

Threading his fingers through hers, Georg locked their hands together and tried to see Paris with the eager eyes of his wife. He loved Paris; it was a romantic, large city with something for everyone; but the Paris he loved was the Paris that came alive at night time, what with all the music halls bursting and the theatres boasting full houses and the crux of Paris high society milling all about, giving the city its beautiful, crackling energy. One could not see the filth of the city in night time. Only its beauty.

But now, he saw what Maria saw: people of all sorts milling about. Artisans, street performers, tourists, lovers, academics, children, guides, mimes, food vendors… anything and everything.

Turning to look at her husband, Maria exclaimed, her eyes alight, "Oh, Georg, what a wonderful day this has been!" And defying all rules of decorum, his wife launched herself into his arms and kissed him passionately. What a sight they must make: the distinguished, well-dressed man in polished leather shoes, a charcoal grey suit, donning a white dress shirt open at the collar, with a long, warm overcoat; she pretty as Seurat's _A Sunday Afternoon on the Island_, wearing a knee-length skirt suit of deep burgundy red and matching collared top, a cream blouse beneath with a beautiful gold brooch pinned to it that he had bought her in Vienna several weeks prior. She wore a black cloche hat with the ensemble, and a pair of black pumps as well.

It was only when the wind threatened to take off her snugly-placed hat that Maria broke away from her kiss with a small laugh and look of utter contentment. Overwhelmed by how her scent, her boldness, her emotion, her obvious joy drove him wild, Georg could not find it within him to reprimand Maria for the breach of etiquette. In fact, it was rather thrilling, and he turned quickly at the sound of laughing and applause, only to see some Parisians behind them nodding approvingly at the display.

"_Très bien, monsieur_!" they called.

Maria laughed at the startled look on his face, laughter dancing in her eyes. "Don't be angry, love," she said.

"I'm not," Georg answered plainly, and he tucked her arm in his and, with one last glance at the scape from the tower's top, he led his wife toward the elevator, praying that he could keep his hands to himself long enough to return to their suite.

"I hope you don't mind skipping the last art museum," he said huskily, attempting to hail a cab. "I want you so!"

As it turned out, Maria had no problem with an altered itinerary, especially as the new and improved version included intense lovemaking and a long, hot shower together.

"I enjoyed when you pinned me against the wall and ravished me," Maria breathed. She was murmuring in his ear as she scrubbed his back with a washcloth. "And again on the floor, once we removed our things."

Groaning, Georg could feel himself becoming hard again at the thought of how they had barely been able to shut their door behind them with the "Do Not Disturb" sign in place, let alone fully disrobe. She had unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, pushing them down enough to free his erection, where he had hiked her skirt up and pulled away her panties which were kicked away with her pumps. He had taken her like that, supporting her weight as she wrapped her legs around him. Then, when he had expired, they collapsed to the floor, and Maria, unheeding of the usual need to recover from a round of lovemaking, had simply begun to undress them both, making him writhe with pleasure as she teased played, making a striptease of her own clothing removal and sweet torture of his. Just her gentle, but unabashed touch was enough to stir his arousal, and by the time she had climbed over him, kissing him passionately, another erection was building steadily, and she reached her own climax as he placed a firm thumb to her own center and stroked her.

Later, they moved to the bed, where he first parted her legs and brought his mouth to her swollen sex, sucking and kissing and stroking ever so gently and tantalizingly with his tongue; exploring anew her hot, wet core, marveling at how aroused she was. Thinking back to their wedding night, Georg recalled how he had expected to have to go to considerable effort to be sure she was aroused enough for him to penetrate her, but she had been modest the night before, when she'd declared she looked forward to joining as one with "alacrity." It had been no surprise to him to find that initiating sexual advances was as easy as long, deep kisses that turned to necking that finally progressed to eager fumbling to his carrying his new bride off to bed, ready to undress her and make love to her.

She was, in fact, in such a highly aroused, yet relaxed, state that she had not been too put out with pain that night or the following morning. She had accepted the warm bath he drew for her, but it hadn't taken her long to initiate more lovemaking herself.

Again, Georg did not find himself surprised, precisely; her initiation had been a long kiss, one she was well-versed in as a result of their betrothal, and while it was not precisely her begging him outright to make love to her, she _had _only been clothed in her robe, and she had sufficiently tousled his hair while he lay in the crook of her arm, talking with him of nothing in particular, merely the pillow talk of lovers.

What startled him is how comfortably Maria seemed to fit the role of lover; what with her struggles in reaching an acceptance of being wife, mother, and baroness, Georg admitted to himself freely that he had wondered how she would fall into that fourth category. In retrospect, it made sense. Maria was a soul who managed to reach to the heart of things very quickly; with increasing degrees of "functional" status, she became increasingly unsure of her footing. In her role as lover, she was new, yet "settled;" in her role as wife, she was finding her balance, and determining how to use that to function as a unit with him; in her role as a mother, she struggled most with the change in the nature of her authority over the children, and the fact that her first priority shifted from them to her husband; as a baroness, she felt utterly strung out, most days, out of her depth, and disconnected.

But Georg knew this was a balance of identity that he preferred in the woman meant to be his life partner. He had loved Elsa Schröder, and they had been great friends, connecting over a shared grief as that fine woman and baroness slowly pulled him out of his shell. But as wonderful as she was, her reputation ruled supreme: she was a baroness first, a wife second, a lover third, and a mother last. Having had the privilege to know her late husband for even a brief period of time, Georg had seen the power of being with the person meant for her: she had been, first and foremost, his lover and his wife. Her role as baroness paled in comparison, and it was perhaps that knowledge that had made it easier for both of them when she had so graciously allowed him to break off the engagement.

He _had_ been horrible to her, terribly unfair. But she had taken the injustice like the sporting, gracious woman she was, and had fallen back on her place in Viennese high society to fill the void her husband had left. He did hope she would find happiness someday. Max sometimes joked that if Elsa did not find someone by the time she reached age fifty, they had agreed to marry, and he would use all her wealth to further his own great musical ideas.

Maria's hands had crept from his back to his sides, now, and she was dangerously close to his groin. "Maria…" Georg trailed, wondering how he'd been able to maintain such a serious train of thought with her doing such innocent, yet beastly things to his body.

"What?"

Oh, dear. Georg swallowed. He recognized that tone of voice. She was playing innocent and cheerful, with a hint of laughter bubbling in her throat.

"My darling, are you trying to make me expire right here?"

"Hmm," Maria said quietly, "maybe I've just been contemplating returning a few favors. You _did _show me how."

His breathing hitched, and with water streaming over his naked body, the flow from the showerhead blocked by his neck and shoulders, Maria knelt down in front of him and began to stroke his hardening member, grasping it in hand as the erection built under her ministrations.

"Maria," he moaned some minutes later, close to orgasm, but she only looked up at him with a pleased grin and squeezed a bit harder before rising and hooking one leg around his waist as he shifted around to lean on the wall and lift her onto him, riding them both toward their release.

Lazing in the tangle of their bed sheets some time later, Maria stifled a yawn and said, "We really should try to call the children again. Do you think we'll get through?"

Laying on his side and propped up by an elbow, Georg traced a finger from the arch of Maria's foot and up the length of her calf, murmuring, "We can try, but I doubt it. I gave it some thought, and it occurred to me that Max would be most likely to be on the telephone when the children are settled in doing their homework. It's the only truly ideal time to try calling them, though we might be more successful if we try after dinner."

"We just tend to be so busy after dinner," Maria pointed out, jerking her leg away from her husband with a ticklish squirm.

"Yes, so busy…." Georg scrambled to his hands and knees, tackling his wife and burying his face in the sweet scent of her freshly-washed skin and hair, laughing as she giggled and tried to fight off his wandering hands, which were attempting to find all her sensitive, ticklish spots.

"Georg, really, stop," she breathed, "or you might find yourself with a bloody nose!"

"Ah, so that's how bad it is!" he grinned, brushing his fingers ever so lightly down the length of her torso.

* * *

><p>Stowe, Vermont<br>May 1945

"Is my dress suit done yet, Baroness von Trapp?"

Maria tried hard not to roll her eyes at Lucille Roberts, then remembered that she was speaking to the woman over the phone, and promptly gave in. "Please, ma'am, call me Maria."

"Oh, tosh, you have a title and you should be able to use it, even though it is German."

"Austrian," Maria muttered under her breath, jaw clenched. "If you come in today, we can make sure everything fits and send you home with both orders, Mrs. Roberts."

After making the necessary arrangements, Maria placed the phone in its cradle, wiped her brow, and let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Alexandra Higgins bustled in at just that moment, observed Maria's pinched expression, and nodded knowingly. "Lucille Roberts?"

"Yes," Maria breathed, "how could you tell?"

Alexandra smiled ruefully. "It is a familiar expression to me, the one you wear."

"I don't know how you have tolerated her for all of your working life, Alexandra," Maria commented. "She is finicky at best and such a horrible gossiper at worst."

Alexandra chuckled at this, nodding. "I know what you mean. It's not so much that she gossips that is offensive—it's that she is so terrible at it!" Pulling some bolts of muslin fabric from the storage bin, Alexandra said, "That reminds me. I didn't get the chance to tell you, since you've been in and out in the past few weeks."

"I do apologize for that," Maria said sincerely. "Herr Detweiler should be on the mend, now, and Georg may start taking him around the estate for exercise."

"That is good to hear," Alexandra said with a warm smile. "I should like to meet this Herr Detweiler. Your girls sounded so fond of him."

Maria smiled. "Oh, they are. All of the children. He is the uncle they do not have."

"Does he speak English?" Alexandra questioned. "I'm afraid I speak no German."

"He does, enough to get by in his travels, at least," said Maria. "I am inclined to think that his language skills are nearly on-par with my husband's, but Max does not necessarily give everything its due diligence as he truly should."

At the mention of Maria's captain, Alexandra was reminded of why she had initially started this conversation. "I just wanted to let you know that Lucille was asking some rather prying, private questions. I don't know if she picked them up from the church rumor mill, or if she is simply being her uncultured, rude self. She started with why you had left early that day, then moved on to why you haven't any children of your own. In the interest of quieting her, I told her that it was likely a choice you and your Captain made in light of the war. I hope that I did not overstep my bounds."

Maria sighed. "No, you did not overstep anything. But it seems I will never escape this field of nosy onlookers that think I should be with child! When we were engaged, everyone thought I was Georg's mistress, and that I had become pregnant by him. The war started and years passed and we're a world away from that life, so the drivel has faded, but it seems to be the privilege of being both a mother to seven and of prime childbearing age that my body warrants constant inspection and myself impertinent questions!"

"It comes with the territory, unfortunately," Alexandra said soothingly. "It was bad for me for years, until I finally snapped at some poor old, unsuspecting dear that after several miscarriages, it was determined that I could not safely carry a child to full term, so it was out of the question. Never happened again."

"Oh, I am sorry, Alexandra," Maria said, feeling sad for her friend.

"It was a long time ago now," the elder woman shrugged. "It was my lot in life, and it gave me the opportunity to pursue many adventures with my husband that we might otherwise not have done. I don't regret anything."

"That is good," Maria agreed, "though no one should have to suffer in that way."

"True," Alexandra trailed.

The two women worked in silence for a while, stocking inventory and adjusting price tags for the new bolts of fabric ready to go out for the latest sale and seasonal design of the storefront. Though it was only early May, now, Alexandra Higgins was known throughout the town for her love of the summer months, and given half the opportunity to begin the season early, she would.

With a glance at her watch, Alexandra reached over and turned on the wireless radio that sat on a high shelf so that they could listen to their daily news broadcasts while they worked. News of the war was, of course, their primary concern, but they also liked to listen to any rebroadcasted fireside chats by the president.

"I keep forgetting that he died," Alexandra said quietly, after tuning the various radio frequencies.

Maria looked up from the clipboard she was marking figures down on, and frowned. "Oh, so do I. We keep expecting to hear his voice on the wireless at home after dinner, only to remember that he died weeks ago, and the last broadcast he gave was nearly a year ago."

"In just over a week, it will have been a month," Alexandra sighed. "Such a shame. He was a great leader, and he reminded me so much of my late husband, Dave. It was more comfort than I can ever express to hear his calming voice talking to us through the radio. It made a hard time bearable, and then when the war broke out… well, you remember."

"Yes," Maria said. "My youngest girls liked him especially. They were devastated at the announcement of his death. We hadn't turned on the wireless that morning, but it was all over the papers, and they saw the stands on their way to school."

Alexandra shook her head sadly, turning off the wireless. "Such a great loss."

The two women did not stop their work in the back room until Maria heard the jangle of the door bell as someone entered the shop. "Probably Mrs. Roberts," Maria said, sticking the pencil she wrote with behind her right ear and squaring her shoulders—for battle, she said, which made Alexandra laugh.

"Maria, _darling_!" Lucille shrieked, rushing toward Maria to give her a great hug. "How _are_ you?"

"Just fine, Mrs. Roberts," Maria said patiently. "If you would just follow me to the changing room, we can see how the final alterations measure up and send you on your way!"

"Oh, good," Lucille tittered, "My son Jason will be on leave soon, and we have decided to meet him in Annapolis!"

Guessing Army, but not quite sure, Maria asked conversationally as she steered the woman to the dressing room, "What branch does your son serve in, ma'am?"

"Navy, coincidentally, just like your Captain! I have been saying for ages that they should meet! Perhaps your Georg could give my boy some useful military secrets!"

Maria cringed inwardly, for Mrs. Roberts had pronounced her husband's name as "George." The woman was practically simpering now, and winked with enormous effort; biting back a sharp reply, Maria calmly explained, "My husband served in the Austro-Hungarian Navy during the Great War, not the Navy of the Third Reich."

"But surely he must know _something_!" Lucille cried, but Maria firmly shook her head and ignored the woman. If Jason Roberts was anything like his mother, she should shudder to introduce him to Georg, let alone the rest of the family. And Maria had regaled them all with too many unflattering stories of the woman for it to be strictly appropriate in polite company. As far as Maria was concerned, she would fit the women for her outfits, collect payment, see her off, and breathe a huge sigh of relief until the point in time that Lucille Roberts decided a new frock of some sort would be appropriate—whether it was or not.

"I do sometimes wish that she was not my most reliable patron," Alexandra sighed, standing with Maria as they watched Lucille carefully make her way to her vehicle, two large boxes in her arms which Maria had neatly tied securing ribbons around. "I'm going to run out of ribbon and then she will be most displeased at the notion of having her things wrapped in lowly string!"

Maria laughed, nodding. "With any luck, we will be able to place a large order for necessities very soon!"

"And not have half of it rejected out of turn by the suppliers, you mean," Alexandra amended.

Swallowing, Maria nodded. Glancing at her wristwatch, Maria gave a start. "Oh, dear, I must leave now! I have an appointment with Tony at the barber shop at half past!"

"You found your wedding photos, then?" Alexandra grinned. "Let me see! I will keep them while you freshen up."

Pulling the photographs from a deep pocket in her skirts, Maria handed them to her employer. "I was devastated to have to cut my hair this short when I entered the convent, but it was so terribly convenient in the years that followed."

Alexandra flipped through the photographs while Maria went to hang her apron and brush out her long hair. One of the pretty young woman dressed in a beautiful blue, flowered chiffon dress, sitting demurely in what looked like a garden terrace with a lake and mountains in the background, made her breath catch in her throat. It was like a dream. And the short coif—it did suit Maria well. Today, she had her hair up in an elaborate braided crown befitting of a queen of lore, but usually she pulled it up into a neat chignon or tied half of it back, letting the heavy locks cascade behind her.

And the one photograph of Maria in her wedding gown—Alexandra thought her heart may have stopped. The dress was exquisite, regal, simple, absolutely gorgeous, and it did everything to flatter Maria's enviable figure. Set off by a wreath of myrtle and a simple, flowing veil, Maria looked every bit the baroness her marriage had made her. The gown was not only appropriate for the woman donning it, but for the season as well, with its long sleeves reaching to a point over her hands and a high, stiff neckline. Surely Maria must have felt so incredibly beautiful on that day!

"Ah," Maria sighed, coming up behind Alexandra, her hair now unbound. "I do wonder what became of that gorgeous gown."

"I suppose you couldn't have saved it," Alexandra acknowledged.

"Georg wanted to have it sent to the children's grandparents in England, but I don't think that ever materialized. They would have passed it on to us while we were there."

Casting a surprised glance Maria's way, Alexandra asked, "You were in England?"

"Only briefly. Georg decided it would be better to utilize what military contacts we had in our journey to America than to simply attempt to go and face very likely rejection."

When she saw that Alexandra was still confused by this, Maria explained, "Georg's late wife was English. The granddaughter of the famous Robert Whitehead, who invented the torpedo. She comes from a family of seafarers, just as Georg does."

"How ever did they meet?"

"Georg met her when he docked in Italy while still in the naval academy. Her grandfather had been welcomed by the emperor to open a factory in Fiume after the British government rejected the invention. Her family was living there at the time."

"I hope I'm not prying… it can't be easy."

Gathering her pocketbook and jacket, Maria took back the photographs, shaking her head. "On the contrary. I wish I could have known her. The children speak of her fondly, and Georg… he still finds it difficult to speak of her, but that he loved her deeply is so clear to me. He sometimes says that loving her makes him love me even harder. I am much indebted to her!" She laughed lightly at this, but said somewhat sadly, "I think it's what keeps him from further pursuing naval opportunities. I don't know what place he really has here in America, but surely his expertise and geographical knowledge must be highly sought after."

"You would let him go?"

Walking with Alexandra down the steps, Maria said, "I would miss him terribly, but I have seen the longing as plain as day. It is as much a part of him as I am and the children are. I couldn't possibly refuse."

"Even if you were to become pregnant?"

Maria stopped, then, and looked at the older woman. "Yes. Even then. Perhaps I am selfishly comforted by the thought that he would not stand for being away for long stretches should that occur. But I can no sooner hold him back with a clear conscience than he can me. I love him too much for that."

* * *

><p>Aigen, Austria<br>August 1937

The villa was enveloped in a rare moment of complete silence, and Maria found herself feeling more at peace and calmed by this than she had expected. The previous months had led her to associate the noisy bustle of the children and servants throughout the house with a cheerful sense of lived-in comfort. But today, she was struggling to handle the immense load on her shoulders, and it was as though the silence lifted it, if only for a little while.

Frau Schmidt had taken the children into town to buy their supplies for the upcoming school year, and though this had bred a certain level of resentment and discontent amongst them, as they wanted Maria to take them, feeling that their sense of ownership over her had been stripped completely, Georg had settled the matter with a frightening air of finality, and the bickering and whining stopped altogether. Maria could not even muster any feelings of guilt for her relief at having the house to herself, no children battling for her attention at every turn. Perhaps she could find her fiancé and spend a little time with him, she thought. The final alterations had been done on her wedding dress, and they would be leaving tomorrow one last time for Vienna with all of the children in tow to buy their dresses and suits for the wedding. That was undoubtedly going to be the affair of the month.

Grimacing, Maria thought perhaps she ought to be more charitable toward her soon-to-be stepchildren, but it was difficult, when only weeks ago, they had all been gaping open-mouthed and observing with enraptured awe at the interactions Maria and Georg had shared without even realizing the extent of their feelings or attraction. Now, she had two overly-giddy girls on her hands, two sullen boys, and three girls whose moods and feelings about the whole matter seemed to change day to day.

Maria felt guilt streak through her when she remembered that she was at least partially to blame for the reluctance the children were feeling. She had left without a word, and though they had welcomed her back with open arms and nothing short of joy, the hard questions had begun very quickly, and Maria found that she still could not answer their embittered questions as to why she had just up and taken flight. Why hadn't they been allowed to visit her like she promised them they could? Would she leave them ever again?

Pushing back from the desk in Georg's study, Maria stood and went to find her fiancé. She sorely needed some perspective right now.

She found him in the master bedroom, busy sifting through trunks of old keepsakes, apparently. But he sat arrested on the bed, staring down at a framed photograph that he held in his hands. Maria watched quietly from the doorway, brow knit, pausing in her intent to knock. When he placed the picture face down on the bedside table and looked up to see his fiancée standing there, her expression softened, and she went to him, picking up the framed picture and sitting down beside him.

Tracing her fingers over the glass to wipe the dust away, Maria gazed down at the portrait of a young Georg and Agathe von Trapp. "You must have been newly married," Maria observed, noting how young they both appeared. Agathe lacked the charming plumpness she had acquired in bearing seven children, as Maria had seen from the pictures the children had shared with her.

She was slight, standing a head below Georg, with a waist that could easily be spanned by his hands. Her hair was dark, a gleaming chestnut like Liesl's, and Maria knew that Gretl had inherited her mother's piercing green eyes. Her face was soft and gentle, yet she appeared to be in complete command of herself, and proud to be standing next to the decorated man that was her husband. Maria smiled. "She is so lovely, Georg."

He nodded, clasping her free hand in his. "The first time I saw her, I was sixteen and thought she was a heavenly vision. Liesl looks just like her, though she has my eyes."

"Mmm, yes," Maria nodded, leaning over the photograph to blow more dust from the glass. "A stunning combination of you both, I think."

"I made so many mistakes, Maria… and I've made a fair few with you."

"Georg," Maria countered, "that's simply life."

"Yes, but," he said with a pained expression, "I want to do right by you. I don't want to fail. Become lost in myself again. Sometimes I wish I could forget her; I loved her so much and it nearly destroyed me."

Shocked, Maria blinked at this pronouncement. Pulling her hand from his and gripping the photograph hard, Maria breathed slowly and deeply through her nose, trying to contain the bitter feelings of anger that rose up like bile in her; it so seemed like he was altogether convinced that their impending marriage was going to crumble away to nothing and leave them lesser for it.

"Is that what you would wish of me, should something happen?" she asked, voice low in an attempt to steady its shaking.

His head snapped up her words and a horrified expression spread across his face as he realized the meaning Maria had taken from his words. "No!" he gasped. "No, never!"

"You will not forget Agathe. I will not let you."

"It's not that simple," Georg said miserably.

"Oh, but I think it is. She was your wife. You loved her more than air. She died. You lost your anchor, but you still have nearly fifteen years of memories with her, Georg."

Maria placed the picture in her fiancé's hands. "I am not saying that you should keep this at our bedside. But I do not want to see it face-down ever again. Put it in your study. If it is too difficult for you to see every day, stow it away in a drawer, out of sight but still within reach. Do not keep her boxed up like this, anymore."

"Actually," Georg gestured, placing the picture upright on the bedside table and drawing a tight arm around Maria's waist, "I was just packing this all up for storage." Looking around the room, he explained, "I have not slept here since before she was ill. I haven't touched a thing, and forbade the staff from coming in here. I supposed that perhaps I should alter that state of affairs and make it livable for us."

"I am going to help you, love," Maria said firmly. "You cannot keep everything here, obviously, but I won't have you boxing up memories, especially ones that the children may be interested in having."

Gazing at Maria, Georg put a hand to the back of her head and drew her in for a passionate kiss, saying thickly, "I am so grateful for you and I love you so much. I don't know what I would do without you."

"I don't know what you would do, either," Maria joked with a slight smile, tracing her betrothed's face with her hands before succumbing to the kiss, one that she arched her back into and which involved the playful tango of their tongues.

"Mmm, you must be feeling better since last week," Georg murmured appreciatively, running his fingers through Maria's short locks.

"Actually, that's why I had come looking for you," Maria sighed, dread settling over her once more. "I think I need to make some honest amends with the children. I did desert camp."

"For reasons that none of them have any hope of understanding," Georg pointed out.

"Yes, but you should understand better than anyone that what I did was unacceptable, regardless of my reasons. I need to sit down with them and really talk about that night. I can spend all the time in the world with them right now, and yet they will wonder if I'm going to run off again when things are difficult."

"I suppose," Georg conceded. "But you don't owe them the explanation, certainly not as their mother."

"I think I _do_ owe it to them, expressly as their mother," Maria said, gaze on her hands folded in her lap. "If I were still merely the governess… well, I had no emotional obligation to them, at least not formally. Now, I do. I will be their mother before very long. They deserve to know that I love them and will stand by them though hardship and joy."

"Alright, if you insist," Georg said uncertainly, "but don't expect to get too terribly far with Friedrich. I don't think he resents you, precisely, but he _has_ been harboring something of a fierce crush on you. I think he resents me more than anyone else."

"I can't win every battle, I suppose," Maria said. "But I can do damage control."

* * *

><p>"Are you sure about this?"<p>

Maria nodded, observing the gaggle of children in the sitting room, waiting quietly for her. "I will be fine, my love. It is better if it is just me and them."

Pressing a kiss to Maria's forehead, Georg nodded. "Best of luck, _Schatzi_. I will be in my office looking through catalogues for a new bed frame."

"Mmm," Maria hummed, warming at the intimate term of endearment. "I will find you after. Now, be gone!"

Once Georg had disappeared from the great hall, Maria consciously straightened and squared her shoulders, pushing the door to the sitting room open fully, smiling at the children as she entered and turned to shut the double doors behind her.

"Good evening, children," she said, taking a seat on the divan where Georg had sung _Edelweiss_ to a full room of company and children.

"Good evening, Fräulein Maria," they chorused, though somewhat dispiritedly.

Placing her hands in her lap, Maria said matter-of-factly, "I want to talk to you all. Or rather, I want to apologize. I should have done this weeks ago."

Several faces knit with confusion, and Brigitta spoke up: "Apologize for what, Fräulein Maria?"

"Mostly for leaving you all the night of the party without a word," Maria said, "but also because I did not consider what it must be like for you. You must feel as though I'm replacing your mother."

"You're not," Louisa said slowly. "But you left without saying goodbye! Why?"

Taking a steadying breath, Maria nodded. "I did. It was wrong of me. I am deeply sorry for that, and I hope that you all can forgive me." Glancing about the room to assess the seven faces in front of her, some of them hopeful, some curious, some… stony. "As to why I left… I was frightened. Someone said some unkind, but not untrue, things to me, and I felt as if I must remove myself from the situation. I did not plan to ever return, so I thought it would be easier if we avoided the prospect of a painful goodbye."

"Easier for you, maybe," Louisa said bitterly. "You knew how we felt about Father doing the same, and yet you left us anyway! And then he told us he was going to marry that awful Baroness!"

"Louisa," Maria said sharply, "I can accept that you did not like Baroness Schröder very well, but you would do well to not speak ill of others."

"She was nothing like our mother," Brigitta said quietly from the chair she was curled up on. "There was no reason for us to like the prospect of her being ours." The girl looked up, and there were tears brimming in her great brown eyes. "You, though. You remind me every day of Mother, and it never made me feel sad. It made me feel so happy. When Father sang _Edelweiss_, I _know_ he only did it because you asked him to. Just like when our mother would beg him to sing it. And then you left without a word. There that night when I went to bed, gone the next morning."

Maria had tears gathering in her own eyes, now. How it was that this child was only ten years old? She was so wise. The impact of her words had hit Maria hard in the chest, and she struggled to find her words.

"How do we know you won't run away again?" Marta asked from her spot on the floor.

Maria looked down at the child and cleared her throat. "Because that time away gave me the answers I needed and the strength to face the consequences of my actions."

"Was it the Reverend Mother?" Gretl asked.

Smile now somewhat watery, Maria nodded. "Yes. She helped me not be frightened, dearest one." She beckoned to the child and gathered her into her arms, nuzzling her soft hair and inhaling her sweet, baby scent.

"Did she sing about your favorite things?"

At this, Maria laughed out loud and wiped away the tears that had begun to flow freely as her laughter spasmed through her body. "Not precisely, darling, but she sang me a song about chasing rainbows and searching for the life I'm meant to have."

"Why wouldn't they let us visit?" Friedrich asked stiffly. "You said we could visit you when school started!"

"Normally, you would have been able to. But I went into seclusion when I returned. It meant that I could see no one and could only pray and read and eat meals."

"You did not want to be seen," the boy said bluntly. "By us."

Closing her eyes, Maria prayed for patience. "I did not want to be seen because I felt I had some terrible things to atone for. It was time meant only for me and God, Friedrich. It was not my intention to literally keep you out. If I had known you all came, I would have sent for you immediately, I promise."

"But you did want to shut out everything." Friedrich accused. "So you did not want to see us, either."

"Friedrich," Liesl said with a quiet, yet warning tone. "That is enough. You are talking about things that you—we—don't understand."

The boy looked at his elder sister, ready to argue, but he saw her serious face and closed his mouth. Turning back to Maria, he mumbled, "Sorry."

Maria nodded, somewhat bemused. Perhaps they had been discussing this on their own. But she wasn't about to get into deep theological discussions with a fourteen-year-old boy whom Georg assured had a massive crush on her.

"Truly, children, your father and I want you to be happy that we are marrying. We don't want to make you feel obligated. I know we changed wedding arrangements when we spoke together last week, but please tell us if you would prefer not to be in the wedding party."

"Do you love Father?" Louisa asked, breaking her silence.

Gaze meeting the girl's, Maria answered truthfully, "So much that it hurts to breathe when I think of it."

"Then I agree with Brigitta. You're not replacing our mother. You're not the same as her, but you remind us all of her. Father has changed with you here, Fräulein, he's become the man I remember him being."

"Even better than that," Liesl said, joining the assent. "It's like every day he falls in love with you all over again, Fräulein Maria. He is happy, and it is obvious."

"Why does love hurt?" Gretl interjected, face scrunched in confusion. "I thought it was nice!"

"Oh, it is, darling," Maria laughed. "It is wonderful."

Marta piped up, "Things will stay the same now that you're going to be our mother, won't they?"

"Not exactly," Maria answered. "You see how your father and I need to spend time alone together sometimes. It will be more like that when we have married. And I have to think of your father and his wishes when it comes to you all, too."

"Father will come first?" Kurt had a fantastic pout on his face. "But you are ours! We had you first!"

"If that were true," Maria said gently, "Gretl would have the sole claim on me of all of you. If you recall, she was the only one who was nice to me when I came here, and she was the one that told me to ignore you all."

"That's not fair!" Kurt complained.

"It is a good thing the world does not function in terms of fairness, then," said Maria firmly. "If it did, I would be well within my rights to send you all to boarding school and keep your father all to myself."

The boy looked shocked at this pronouncement, as did Friedrich.

"But I want Father, too," Kurt moaned. "He's going to teach me how to use his telescope!"

"Don't you think that's how your father and I feel about each other? There will be things that we want from each other that no one else can give us, Kurt, much as we love you all. Sometimes your needs will be more important, and so we will adjust accordingly to accommodate that. But it is also important that you understand that being married to someone means you have to put them first. If your father and I are miserable, how will that make you feel?"

"Not very happy," Kurt mumbled, starting to flush crimson from shame.

"I love you all more than words can say, but I also love your father, and that has its own chain of command. If you must, look at it as my moving up in the ranks. I have a new position, new duties, and I have new authority over you."

"Is Father your new commanding officer?" Marta asked, head cocked.

"Certainly not!" Maria said emphatically, causing them all to laugh. "No, it is more that we're the same kind of officer now and work for the same commander."

"Who?" Kurt asked.

"God, of course," Maria said.

"Oh… I knew that," he said, to which his siblings laughed heartily.

Beckoning Marta and Brigitta to join her on the couch with Gretl cuddled on her lap, Maria asked, "Are we all on the same page, now? I'm not stealing your father from you, and he's not stealing me from you. Things have to be different because we're going to be a new family in a few weeks. Not because I love you any less or want to replace something that is utterly irreplaceable, but because your father and I will be partners."

"And you love him so much it hurts!" Gretl emphasized.

"Yes," Maria laughed, picking the girl up and twirling her around, to be set on her feet only two rotations later. "I don't expect that you all will feel sure of what we have discussed straight away; I know that is not easy. But I hope you can forgive me and take me up on the promise to never go away wordlessly ever again."

"Of course we forgive you," Brigitta smiled, wiping her eyes once again. "We could never stay mad at you for long."

"You can take the girl out of the church, but you can't take the church out of the girl," Georg grinned, whispering lightly into Maria's ear as he embraced her, having just heard how the discussion with the children had gone.

"I'm not convinced that I have every child's forgiveness, though no one spoke contrary to Brigitta's words," Maria sighed.

"I would advise," Georg said, kissing the hollow of her neck, "that you take the words at face value for what they are, but do not expect them to be universal in application. Brigitta is a reasonable girl, and your words have been backed up by action. You came back. You apologized. You're marrying me. Marriage to her, as it is to most, is something of considerable permanence. She will feel more secure in that than anything else."

"And the others…"

"The others will simply have to work through their own issues on their own time," Georg shrugged. "Let's make it through the wedding. Hopefully, the time away during the honeymoon will give them the space they all need to come more fully to terms with what is happening. If any problems linger, we will address them when we have returned home."

"At least I don't have to worry about Liesl and Gretl," Maria assured herself. "In the meantime, what is this you say about a honeymoon long enough for our children to hammer out their personal issues with their father marrying the governess? Will I like it?"

"Oh ho!" Georg chuckled. "I do not claim to be psychic, but as long as your sense of adventure is firmly intact… it should be the time of our lives, my treasure."


	5. Part I: Chapter 4

Stowe, Vermont  
>May 1945<p>

Maria knocked on Laverne Stiles' front door, waiting for her friend to answer and admit her inside for their weekly tea. She smiled widely when Laverne appeared, reaching out to give her friend a big hug.

"How are you, Maria?" Laverne asked, ushering Maria inside. "I hope you don't mind that I've set up tea in the garden. It's such a lovely day, I thought we might take advantage of that."

"I am well," Maria responded, "and that is lovely! Just perfect. How are _you_?"

"Just peachy, considering all these dreadful sugar rations."

Maria chuckled, shedding her pocketbook, hat, and shawl and then following Laverne into the kitchen to help with the tea. "I brought along a tin of cookies," Maria said, holding them out. "An old favorite from home. The children devour them, and the sad thing of it is, they're hardly children any longer!"

"I suppose not," Laverne agreed. "Tell me, was Brigitta accepted to Yale?"

Wide smile spreading over her face, Maria nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes, was she! On a full scholarship, too. She is ecstatic. I don't think she will be coming down from her cloud any time soon."

"What of the others? Have they applied to study anywhere?"

"Georg would like it if Kurt and Louisa studied, and Louisa has entered a small veterinary program, but Kurt insists that he wants to work the mills with his brother. What he does not realize is that Friedrich has been studying very hard in the last few years so that he can take his entrance exams for medical school very soon."

"Good for him!" Laverne cheered. "Especially as he has not obtained a diploma yet."

"That was his idea," Maria affirmed. "Georg doubted his choice to study on his own for the medical school entrance exams, but the added income we received by his remaining home these last four years has taken us a long way toward getting the lodge off the ground."

"I still think you might be able to turn that place into a beautiful resort of some kind," Laverne mused. "The rural draw for tourists is magnetic. Add to that the majestic mountains and beautiful, large home with so much happening on the land itself."

"The gardens have certainly grown," Maria agreed, "but there is no draw to come to our particular plot of land over so many others."

"What does your friend Max think of that?" Laverne asked, an eyebrow raised.

"He has not said much, but he is still gaining his strength. He has only managed some short walks in the garden thus far, usually with Georg or one of the children. He's tucked in snugly by the time I come home to start lunch and prepare dinner. He joins us for breakfast and dinner, but leaves the lunch to us."

Laverne smiled. "He must know it is the time you and Georg steal for one another."

"Uh," Maria stuttered, "he may know all too well… we've been getting a little carried away, cooped up with so much time to ourselves. Oddly enough, it seems Georg took my freshly-shorn hair as an open and unrelenting invitation."

Carrying the tray of tea things out to the garden, Maria following behind with the spread of snacks, Laverne smirked. "You forgot how enticing a bare neck can be for a man, did you not?"

"Clearly…" Maria trailed, looking at her friend with an odd expression. "Did you…"

Laverne laughed loudly. "I had a phase when I was in my twenties, like every other girl, I suppose, where I absolutely had to have the bob of the decade. It was styled horribly, and I was horrified, but once I washed it and set it myself, it was perfectly acceptable—well, as acceptable as a bob could possibly be in 1923!"

Maria chuckled along with her friend, carefully placing the food tray and biscuit tins among the tea. "Sometimes I cannot fathom that America in the 1920s is as scandalous as everyone says it was."

"Oh, pfft," Laverne waved, a cucumber sandwich in hand. "Perhaps the biggest issue was Prohibition."

"Prohibition," Maria repeated slowly. "_Verboten_?"

"Yes! _Verboten_, exactly! I knew there had to be some German word like that! My husband throws it around," Laverne explained. "Prohibition was our legal alcohol ban. Needless to say, it did _not_ stick, and I'm glad for it. I'm no drinker, but I do like the occasional stiff whiskey or a bottle of wine. Never beer, yuck," she shuddered, shaking her head emphatically. "No offense to you Austrians, of course!"

Shaking her head, Maria assured, "Neither of us cares for lager. We are much more inclined toward wine. But mostly, I drink enormous amounts of tea," and she raised her tea cup to her friend. "Cheers!"

After several minutes of companionable silence, Maria said, "I can't shake the feeling that you've got some wonderful news and are positively bursting to tell it."

Laverne's tea cup clanked loudly against its saucer, and she looked at Maria, wide-eyed. "Am I so obvious?"

"Darling, you and Brigitta could be one and the same, right now, that's how obvious it is to me," Maria admonished. "Now, spill the beans! Not that I will ever understand such an idiom, but my children tell me it is the thing to say."

Constantly amused by Maria's firm grasp of English and continued learning curve in spite of it, Laverne chuckled and then revealed, "My son, Charlie, has written home. He's being discharged from duty, and he's bringing his wife here to stay. She's expecting a baby around Christmas."

"Oh, my most _heartfelt _congratulations!" Maria said earnestly. "For all of it! I know you have been so horribly worried about him for all those years, and for her, being stationed in England as she was."

"Yes, I often wished she could have been stationed here in the States—I'm sure you're well aware that England was not precisely the safest place in the world for anyone, let alone a newly married couple with the entire world in front of them."

"I can relate," Maria said. "It was difficult for Georg to leave England, knowing that his children would be cut off from their grandparents once again, and knowing that most of the family fortune would have to go untouched so as not to leave a glaring trail. For me, it was terrifying knowing that a bomb could drop at any moment and kill any one of us."

"Yes, those pesky incendiary bombs," Laverne lamented. "Some dear friends were killed in the Blitz on London."

"I am sorry," Maria offered, sipping her tea. "It seems none have gone untouched by this war."

"It was a foolish notion to believe that we Americans could stay out of this mess. I look at you and your family, and your friend Max, and my heart just breaks because no one should have to go forward with silent cries for help, and yet it requires such great sacrifice to answer the call of duty to our fellow man."

"I am amazed that neither of our boys have been called to the front," Maria said. "They are able-bodied and willing. It might simply be an issue of loyalty. But I can't help but also be grateful that they are out of harm's way. Sometimes I still have nightmares about Georg being found and shot for desertion."

"After all this time?"

"As long as the Nazi regime reigns, we will never be safe in any land their empire touches."

"How sad," Laverne frowned.

"Georg thinks they grossly distorted his importance in their regime, but as it stands, I remember what his summoning telegram said, and that awful Gauleiter Zeller. He was to take command of the naval forces of the Third Reich. It was not even an option; the offer was extended, and it was expected that he accept immediately. Actually," Maria laughed ruefully, "they did not even require that he accept the position. They sent an escort to take him to Bremerhaven the very evening that we returned from honeymoon."

Laverne gazed at Maria, bug-eyed. "The very same night?!"

"The very same."

"Well, that is just utterly classless," the woman scoffed, brushing her red fringe out of her eyes. "Everything else aside, I would have also refused just based on that."

Pulling the tin of cookies toward her, Maria agreed. "I thought as much. I thought they would have the grace to wait a few months, at least, let us settle in, perhaps give him the chance to put a child in my belly and increase the angst of the entire situation, force our children into the Hitler Youth, and summon him to the port city, then." She shook her head. "No, they were very eager to make it look as though everything was proceeding smoothly. That was their mistake. They should have let it settle a bit. Now, Max tells us the country is fraught with a numerous underground Resistance groups and violence may rear at any turn in the road."

"It is good that you are here," Laverne said firmly. "Perhaps all the wealth and status is gone, but you are together and safe."

"I couldn't care less for the wealth lost—I barely had time to grow comfortable with it—and as for the status… it has more leverage here than it ever did in Austria," Maria grinned. "And besides, I have been blessed with wonderful friends, here. My husband has a livelihood. I have a job that I enjoy. Our children are thriving even as they begin to make their own ways."

"Hear, hear," Laverne cried, raising her third cup of tea to her dear friend.

* * *

><p>"Gretl, turn the radio down!" Marta complained, trying to reach over her sister from her seat at the end of the dinner table. "I'm trying to finish my essay!"<p>

Gretl stuck her tongue out at her sister and ignored her, saying petulantly, "I can do what I want."

Maria, having just returned home from her shift at the seamstress shop, walked in to find her daughters grabbing at each other, Marta trying to reach the radio and Gretl attempting to fend her off. "Girls!" she said sharply, "if you will not compromise, you may go to your rooms instead."

Marta twisted around to look at her mother, who was draping her shawl over the back of dining chair and setting her things down. "It's not fair! I need to finish this, and she will not turn it down! I did not ask her to turn it off, just to make it quieter!"

Biting back a smile, having recently settled a similar quibble in which Kurt had demanded that the device be shut off while he worked at the accounting figures for the mill but Marta had been insistent in leaving it on, Maria shook her head. "This is a common space that we share, sweetheart. You cannot expect to have total silence. Your brothers and father will be home soon, and I am ready to prepare dinner. It will not be quiet here, regardless of whether the radio is on."

"But I was here first," Marta whined, clearly unwilling to give in to her mother's reason. "For a whole hour!"

"Nevertheless," Maria shook her head. Crooking a finger at Gretl, she said, "Love, bring it into the kitchen and help me with dinner. You haven't any homework, correct?"

At the girl's shake of the head, Maria nodded. "Right. You come with me. Marta, please take your essay up to your room to finish."

"Mooootherrrrrr," Marta whined, but she stomped off in a huff, her books and essay gathered in her arms, and slammed the door behind her.

"Gretl, dearest," Maria said quietly, "you must try not to upset your sister. You know she was not asking a particularly difficult thing of you."

The girl had pulled her hair up in a messy bun and put on an apron, and was standing at the sink, busy washing and peeling potatoes. "I just wanted to listen to Frank Sinatra," she pouted. "Usually she listens with me! Why must she be so mean?"

"Sometimes it is difficult to be her age," Maria explained, unbuttoning her sleeves and pushing them up. She joined her daughter at the sink, picking up a paring knife to begin cutting the potatoes that Gretl had prepped for her.

"But she gets so _moody_ now," Gretl insisted, voice bordering on a whine. "She's no fun anymore! I'm not that much younger than her, and I don't yell at anyone else at the drop of a hat!"

"Maybe you don't yell," Maria conceded, "but you _do _raise your voice."

Gretl blushed at this, contrite for having realized that she had just all _but_ yelled at her mother with frustration. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I just wish things were different."

Pulling out a large bowl from the cupboard above her, Maria transferred fistfuls of cubed potato to the bowl and set it on the kitchen table. She looked over to her daughter, who was watching her from over her shoulder, and shrugged, thinking of the conversation she'd had with Laverne Stiles at noon tea. It would not do to guilt Gretl with those reflections, she knew. Plugging the radio back into its outlet, she put turned the volume on low, saying, "How about that Sinatra, darling?"

The two of them were hard at work on a peach cobbler, talking happily and paying no attention whatsoever to the wireless, when Georg suddenly burst through the kitchen door and seized the box, fiddling with the knobs to change the frequency.

"Hey!" Gretl cried. "Papa, we were listening to that—"

But Georg shot his youngest daughter a silencing glare and continued to tune it. Once he had succeeded at this venture, he placed it back on the table and sat down heavily into one of the chairs.

"Georg, what—"

But he raised a hand, and the next moment, the radio announcer's voice rang out clearly, answering the unfinished question.

"The war has ended! I repeat, the war has ended! Peace was declared today in Europe. The Germans have surrendered!"

Gretl dropped the knife she was working with and it clattered into the sink as she turned around, gaping, expression identical to her mother's. Georg was muttering under his breath, seemingly unable to believe it.

The war was over. It was over. Maria could scarcely believe it. The announcement repeated, and with each successive affirmation, it became more and more real to her. On the fifth repetition of the announcement, a wide smile spanned her face, and she went to her husband, pulling him to his feet. She kissed him fiercely, and he wrapped his arms around her and swung her in circles, whooping.

He was just setting her back onto her feet when the boys crashed into the kitchen from the gardens, shouting, "It's over! Did you hear? John just let us off, we heard it the radio in his truck! The war's over!"

"Yes!" Maria cried, nodding effusively as she wiped the tears streaming from her eyes. "Yes!" Looking at Gretl, she beckoned her daughter over and hugged her tightly. "Go fetch Marta, tell her the news! And Max, as well! I think this calls for a celebration," she said, gaze on her husband.

He nodded, saying, "I'll get the car."

Ten minutes later, six von Trapps and Max were driving toward the town center, rushing to gather at the church, where the other three of their number would most certainly be, gathered with all of those nearest and dearest to them. The hoopla was an amazing sight to see. Everyone gathered at the church steps to listen to the radio broadcast, listening to it turned up loudly as possible and amplified for the crowd. Drinks were passed around, people were crying, children laughing, dogs barking and chasing their tails in happy circles, caught up in the excited energy of the moment.

"Of course, we haven't finished our business with the Japs," one man was saying as Maria and Georg pushed their way through the crowd, "but still, victory in Europe, eh? We will be successful yet!"

Laverne found Maria in the throng and hugged her friend hard, whispering into her ear, "And to think, we were so morose at tea this morning. God is good!"

"He is," Maria nodded, hugging her friend back equally tightly. "He surely is!"

"You must bring your family to dinner tonight! The rations must surely be lifted! We'll make a feast of it, all together! I will invite Alexandra as well, and her beau!"

"Stuart is _not_ my beau," came Alexandra's firm voice from behind Laverne, but she was smiling widely at the two women before her. "I can hardly believe it!"

"Neither can I," Maria shook her head. "I don't think anyone can. And yet, here we all are, fit to celebrate through the week!"

"It has been a long time since we have had so much to celebrate," Alexandra observed, accepting a stein of beer that was offered her from a passing smithy apprentice boy. She lifted it, saying resolutely, "And celebrate, we shall!"

Dinner that night at the home of Laverne Stiles and her husband, the good doctor of the town, was an affair to remember. She had brought out the myriad preserves she stashed away, varied but few, due to the sudden onset of the war and the fact that it had come when she had already dipped generously into her stocks as the cold winter weather came over Vermont. "These are some of my best," she cried, tears streaming down her face. "I was saving them for something special. I always thought, perhaps for the next Thanksgiving or Christmas, but when the time came, it never seemed important enough to really go all out!"

"Praise God for freezer boxes," Dr. Stiles chuckled, snaking an arm around his wife's waist and planting a kiss on her wet cheek. "Most of this would have spoiled long before now if it was stored in the traditional way!"

There was all manner of meat and fruit and vegetables to be had, and Maria had relented in preparing some of her more coveted dessert dishes, working quickly and deftly beside her daughters and two best friends, various baking ingredients all pooled together in the Stiles' kitchen.

"Say, Alexandra," Laverne called, "I just wanted you to chop that meat, not mince it!"

"Maybe I want a mince pie!" Alexandra joked, but she adjusted her method accordingly, and everyone laughed.

In the sitting room, the men were passing around some of the doctor's finest whiskeys and wine bottles, trying to decide which would be best for the grand dinner that was being prepared.

"Laverne claims she has tired of game meat," Dr. Stiles drawled, "but it is comprising most of our meat spread!" He chuckled at this, then said, "As venison is a sweet meat, I am thinking a good Mourvèdre…" he trailed. "Red goes better than white with this!"

"I don't know about your wife or Mrs. Higgins, but Maria does favor white wines, as do my girls," Georg commented, examining a bottle of Riesling. "This tends to go well with venison." He held the bottle up to show the doctor what he had picked from the wine racks. "Where ever did you find German Spätlese wine?"

"An old friend gifted it to our family when we were visiting England a number of years ago," James Stiles answered. "Perhaps, though, a German wine is not so wise, considering…?"

Georg looked at the doctor and chuckled. "I may resent the Germans for many things, but this is good wine, _Herr Doktor_. It is a particular favorite of my wife's."

"Then we shall have that also," Dr. Stiles decided, gathering the selections to take them to the dining room.

"Forgive me," Max said some hours later, "but I cannot hold my liquor like I once could!" and he declined a fourth glass of brandy, chuckling. "I will just help myself to your wife's fine baking skills instead!"

"If you insist," Dr. Stiles conceded, backing away from Max and filling his and Georg's glasses once more instead.

"I'll have a refill," Alexandra said, holding out her tumbler.

"Maria, Laverne, children?" the doctor asked, gesturing to the others, who had contained their drinking to wineglasses at the dinner table. Friedrich accepted a glass of brandy and Maria took a third glass of wine, eyes sparkling and cheeks rosy.

They had spent the better part of the past hours singing and dancing and clapping along to the celebratory music coming from the radio in the Stiles' sitting room, and Maria was breathless from her husband twirling her about the room in a fit of chivalrous joy; certainly, he had not been so unreserved since they had been alone in Paris all those years ago! Much had changed by this night, too, as his unreserved behavior had then been for her alone; tonight he was letting his happiness show to those he loved most, and it made Maria's heart swell in a way that she could not possibly have any hope of describing, should anyone ever ask her to put her feelings into words. It was impossible. Perhaps the Americans still had unfinished business to attend, but Europe was liberated from the Nazi hold, now, and there was not much left standing in the way of the future now!

* * *

><p>It was well after midnight when the von Trapps arrived back home, Liesl having elected to drive them, and it was in the silence and privacy of their bedroom that Maria found the voice to say something she had waited all afternoon and evening to hear, but had not.<p>

Wrapped in her husband's arms, she murmured, "Not one of the children asked if we would return home, Georg."

"Mmm," he hummed, toying with the locks of hair at the nape of her neck. "They partook in the joy of the celebrations so readily."

"Then again," Maria considered, "so did we."

"We've built a life here," Georg observed. Maria made a sound of agreement, then silence fell around them again. Georg was preoccupied with thoughts of how contented he was to be in this place of life with his wife and children at his side, a contentment he had not expected to ever find. It almost seemed too easy, at times. Like it was a crime that he had come out of a situation that should have destroyed him utterly, and so, in the ironic clasp of those who committed terrible crimes and got away clean, he was happy.

"I want you," Maria breathed, unsuspecting of his suddenly darkened thoughts. "Dancing with you tonight, I wanted you so badly I could taste it."

"You are insatiable," her husband growled, drawn from his reverie, but he pulled her atop him and helped to extract her nightgown from her body. She kissed him deeply, chest heaving quick but long, then scrambled to remove his own pajamas and boxers.

"I can't help it that I love you this much," Maria gasped, shuddering as her husband fondled her breasts and trailed his fingers lightly down her torso, then back up her sides and down her back, tickling along her spine. "Ah," she choked, "I can't even bring myself to be sad for what was lost in these years. I have you."

Georg knew this was the closest that Maria would ever come to admitting something he had thought from the moment they knew they would have to leave Austria: that she was not sorry for it. Of course, she was sorry for him, and for the children, and the hardships and struggles it would bring to them, but to her this was much closer to the life she had always led. She had never been bitter about their state of affairs and had always been the one quickest to be resourceful, and though he had found her crying once or twice in the bathtub or in the kitchen, she wept out of a different sorrow than he or his children ever had. Hers was an honest, unselfish need to expel emotion and fear, where he and the children, he could admit, sometimes found themselves despairing over the loss of their material comforts and way of life.

She was so pure of heart.

Something jolted through Georg like a bolt of lightning, and he suddenly found himself ravenous for his wife's body, mind, and soul. His grip on her tightened, and he pulled her down for another kiss that shot straight to his groin, and he flipped her over so that she was underneath him, and he found that she was already wet, wet enough for him to ravage her right this moment. She had not been exaggerating when she'd said she wanted him badly.

Lowering his mouth to her breasts, he licked the tender flesh, her nipples, the cleft between her breasts, and Maria took his face in her hands, pulling him up so she could gaze into his eyes. A strange expression flitted across her face as she did so, but it cleared a moment later, and she whispered, "Take me, Georg."

And so he leaned in to kiss her once more, so raw, so deep that it must have touched something primal, and he took her body as his own, making love to her as he remembered every pang of sadness, every bout of sorrow, every flash of anger, every bit of longing and fear that he had felt in these long years, and he let his wife absorb every fraction of it within him. He had spent so much time holding back, but now that the war was ended, and it was as though a vise had lifted and he could breathe again, think again, and everything hurt. Everything hurt so badly. To say he had been detached from his emotions was not precisely it, but oh, did he feel it now. He felt it now, but he also had his wife here, beside him, beneath him, surrounding him, loving him so unreservedly. It was almost as though she had whiled the years of their marriage quietly and contently, waiting for this moment to break.

He did not desire her the way he had as when she was a virgin and his new bride, ready and willing to show her all the ways in which he could and would love her. He did not desire her as his wife and the woman he loved more than his own life. He desired her now as his lifeblood, he desired her now out of nothing but pure need and pure pain, and as she wrapped her arms and legs around him, shifting to take him deeper within her, he found that they were in that elusive, rare place that reached beyond passion; it was primitive, it was powerful, and with a shout he realized that they would not leave it soon. He lost himself inside her, lines of reality blurring and time falling away, the world no more. She was his everything, his anchor, his heart.

He sobbed that night as he had not since the day they received the call in Paris from Max, telling them that the Anschluss had come. He had never spoken of it. Put it from his mind. She had never asked. She had asked nothing of him in his pain and despair, and had instead provide him precisely what he needed most. Warm, steady, calming presence. Constancy. Sureness. She did not judge. She gave.

Maria had pulled her husband up in the moments before his body possessed hers merely to kiss him and look into his eyes, as often was her habit before he did so, but what she had seen there had given her pause: it was familiar, yet foreign. She remembered immediately, and knew that somehow, in the minutes between their whispered conversation and her speaking of her desire for him, Georg's mind had shifted beyond the here and now, beyond the past, and had gone to a place of helplessness and hopelessness. God only knew how such a thing could happen, but ever since the evening that Max's call had brought their honeymoon to a halt, Maria felt a part of her had been waiting for that vulnerability to reemerge and allow her to soothe it and calm it and be a balm once again.

She knew Georg well enough then to know that sex would be a comfort to him, and she would have given it to him again easily and wholly after he had cried on her shoulder, but back then, nearly a decade ago, she had been young and new, and as her husband absolutely ravaged her body in the here and now, she knew that in her early days as his wife, she could not have handled this as a woman equal to the task. It would have scared her, to face lovemaking of pain and lovemaking of black despair in the same night. One day she could, but not that day. So, she had waited.

There had been brief moments in the intervening years where she had seen a shadow of that naked despair in his eyes, but it had cleared just as quickly as it had come; it was not abiding as it was now, looming over him in a moment where he suddenly realized that a world he had become accustomed to was falling away once more.

War was difficult. They both knew that. But rebuilding the world after war was excruciating, a process that only managed to set in stone the truth of how impossible it would be to ever return things to the way they were, as though a bookshelf had been knocked over and one had only to replace the books to their proper places.

She had not expected to find that phantom in her beloved's eyes tonight. It had taken her aback. But she knew it, and she knew she had only a split second to turn the priority from her own desires to his need. She had half expected it to fail, for him to set his jaw and set to pleasuring her as though his life depended on it, unheeding of her words. But he not only heard them, tonight, but turned them over generously, again and again.

Surely if this were any other night, Maria thought, she would find herself nearly incapacitated by the things he was doing, but her mind remained startlingly clear, and she was able, she found, to accommodate for her husband's needs before he could anticipate them himself, and it was perhaps the most malleable she had ever been in both deed and thought in their nearly eight years as lovers. A malleability honed with time and love and joy and sorrow and anger, it was as though he was using her to absorb all the blows he had weathered in his life and had not been able to release until now, when the world was at yet another crossroads and he felt wholly deserted miles back.

Maria felt his sorrow readily in this, his fear, his anger, his confusion. But again, as she had that night in Paris, she dared to hope also. If only one thing came from this night, she hoped that something would take root in his heart that would show him there was always a way forward. And she hoped that way would be a light.

She too still found herself sad at times, over the affairs that had brought them here, and she missed Salzburg fiercely, especially when she looked out at the mountains surrounding their home and thought sadly of how majestic they were, but also of how they could never compare to the glorious grandeur of Austrian villages amongst the rolling hills of the mountaintops, of the beauty so paramount that it made her heart ache and compelled her to sing. She missed the trips to Mondsee they had vowed to take with the children, both present and future. She missed the vows to show the world that they were a couple unbreakable, with no chink in their armor, a determination which had fueled her throughout their time in Paris, giving her clarity when she had nothing else to grasp at. She missed it all, the good and the bad.

Americans did not blink at their marriage because they did not know how quickly and suddenly it had come about; there was no scandal behind it all, no challenge to impose, only a loving couple with many children between them to shepherd. No one here doubted them. They simply _were_. It was a blessing, though Maria could acknowledge that she had taken some level of perverse pleasure in setting out to show the Austrian aristocracy just how well-suited she and Georg were to each other, and how well it would turn out, and having it stripped away in an instant, while a relief, had been a bit of a disappointment also.

It was the same sort of perverse pleasure she had taken in having only her blue flowered chiffon to wear to what she had thought would be her last dinner at the von Trapp villa. Maria had thought of that dress as nothing but a gorgeous item suited to her tastes that had a variety of appropriate reasons to wear it; Elsa Schröder had been the one to assign a meaning to it that Maria had first balked at but later turned it into her own defensive weapon. She hadn't overtly tried to make a statement in choosing it, but she _had _decided it would be her best armor in facing a dinner she dreaded with all of her being, to startlingly wonderful results.

Aristocracy would never change, Maria knew. It would always be the same petty, vapid, needling cesspool, and though she had thought it would be her cross to bear, the odds had worked in her favor. It had taken her years to accept this without some level of guilt flooding her mind, but it was one of the things that had allowed her to accept that Georg's hidden well of pain would one day resurface, and that it would be a thing she would need to be prepared to not only manage, but assuage.

And assuage it, she did, as she let him do all manner of things to her body and ask all manner of things from her. It was not easy, by any means, to quell her own desire to complement his actions with her own ideas of what should be done in a level of intimacy that they rarely reached, but she had decided when she looked into his eyes and saw blackness that she would not usurp his control, or lack thereof. She let him use her as never before, and she reveled in it more than she thought would ever be possible.

He was unrelenting, a wild animal. He held himself off, told her not to make him come, took her anywhere that he could in any way that he could, and only came in her once he had pinned her hips down with his and her legs wrapped around him to hold him as deep within her as he could be and the spasming muscles of her exploding orgasm caused him to expire all at once.

He lay on top of her, heaving against her rapidly rising and falling chest, and kissed her fiercely, every inch of soft, warm skin he could reach, the salt of the tears he did not know were falling mixing with the sweat that was evaporating from her body as they lay amongst the mess of their decimated bed.

"I love you, Maria, I love you," he whispered against her skin, repeating it over and over and over again. "I love you, my darling, my love."


	6. Part I: Chapter 5

Aigen, Austria  
>September 1937<p>

"But what do you _do_ on honeymoon?" Gretl insisted loudly. "What can you do on honeymoon that you can't do anywhere else with anyone else? _I_ want to go to Paris!"

"Darling," Maria said quickly, fighting a rising blush as she pulled the yellow dress suit from her new stepdaughter's hands. "Remember how I talked with you and your brothers and sisters a few weeks ago? And how I said that married people need time to themselves?"

The little girl was wearing a pout of epic proportions, her face scrunched, but she nodded reluctantly. "I remember. You said you love Father so much that it hurts!"

"Yes," Maria breathed, relieved. "Yes, Gretl! I will miss you so much, love, but this is time for me and your father to spend time getting to know each other alone. When you get married, that's what you do. You go away for a while to be alone."

"But you'll bring me something?" the child asked, uncertain. "You'll see things, like that painting of the lily pads? Just like you showed me?"

Maria nodded. "Yes, we will bring you something, Gretl, love. We will bring something for all of you to have. And I hope to see many beautiful pieces of art. When I do, I shall make sure to write it all down so I won't forget a thing, and then when we come back home from honeymoon, your father and I can tell you every detail! It will be like you _were _there, love."

"No, it won't!" the child said, crossing her arms and stomping a foot.

"Yes it will be, I promise," Maria said firmly. "Besides, aren't you forgetting something?"

Gretl's brow scrunched and she wrinkled her nose, trying to think of whatever she had forgotten.

"You have a play to work on at school, do you not?" Maria reminded gently. "Where you get to be Little Bo Peep?"

"Oh, yes, yes, Fräulein Maria!" Gretl shouted. "I remember now!" Looking severely at Maria, she said, "You're my new mother now. You _have_ to come see the play!"

"Oh, I will," Maria laughed, pulling the indignant little girl into an embrace, nuzzling her sweet-smelling hair. "Now, be gone with you! I need to change so that your father and I can bid the guests goodbye."

"And then you'll go to Paris?"

Thinking of the fit that would ensue if Maria told the child that she and Georg would, in fact, be staying in Salzburg for two nights, she nodded. "And then we'll go to Paris. Nothing but Paris for two whole months!"

Gretl nodded seriously at this, then said, "I'll miss you, Mother."

"Oh," Maria sighed, her voice cracking at Gretl's candid honesty. This was the first time she had called Maria "mother" expressly. "I'll miss you, too, my darling." She embraced the child once more, then gently swatted her bottom, telling her to go find Marta and Louisa, because they would give her some wedding punch.

Gretl vaulted out of Maria's tiny hotel room that she shared with Liesl and went barreling down the hall, shouting, "Louisa! Mother says get me punch!"

* * *

><p>"Honeymoons sound <em>boring<em>," Kurt exclaimed, in the midst of a heated argument with Louisa. He was tugging irritably at his bow tie, and was flushed in the face. "What is there to _do_ if you're just with one person?"

"Obviously," Louisa said with an air of authority, "Father will take Fräulein Maria all over Paris. They will see all the art exhibits and concerts and sights."

"But for _two months_?" Kurt insisted stubbornly. "That's _boring_. Why can't they just come home after a week or two?"

Louisa flushed at this, and looked helplessly to Liesl and Friedrich, at a loss.

Gretl, who was happily sipping her punch and had a frothy mustache on her upper lip, piped up, "Mother says we have to remember that married people need alone time. I bet they _kiss_."

"No, that's stupid," Kurt said. "They do that where we can see it."

Gretl's face grew red at Kurt's pronouncement, and Liesl and Louisa could see that she was about to start a tantrum.

"Kurt," Liesl said quickly, "please apologize to Gretl."

"You're not the boss of me," the boy said obstinately, jaw set and arms crossed.

"What's going on here?" came the voice of their father.

Kurt spun around quickly, eyes wide. "Father!" he exclaimed.

"Fatheeeeer," Gretl whined, "Kurt is being mean to me!"

Raising an eyebrow, Georg looked at his son.

"Liesl's ordering me to do things," Kurt said defiantly, chin raised.

"I would hardly call apologizing to your baby sister for calling her ideas stupid a huge chore, Kurt," Georg said levelly.

All of the children blanched at this, not having realized that their father had overheard so much of the argument, all but for Gretl, whose chin jutted out, and she shrieked, "I am _not_ a baby!"

Georg ignored this, and said instead, "Liesl, if you could find Marta and Brigitta, Max is going to take you all home now. If you wait in the foyer, your mother and I will come say goodbye in a few minutes."

The eldest nodded, picking up Gretl as she did so, amongst whines and complaints that they did not want to leave the reception yet.

"You have school tomorrow," Georg said sternly. "I won't have this impertinence, and you will behave yourselves for Max."

"Yes, Father," the complainers muttered, chastised.

"Do you think they'll be alright?" Maria asked her husband a half hour later as they watched Liesl, Friedrich, and Max herd the circus that was their tired, sugar-fueled children toward the entrance of the hotel and out to the street to get into the car and drive off to the villa in Aigen.

"They will be fine," Georg nodded, "and I refuse to spare them another thought until such time as I feel it is appropriate."

"I can't help feeling badly that we'll be missing Brigitta's birthday," Maria sighed. "She has been such a sport about it, too."

"Well," Georg grinned, "it is to her benefit that we will be missing it."

"Oh?" Maria said, intrigued.

"You'll see," he winked, linking his hand with hers as he turned around and led them back toward the reception hall. "You will see, my darling."

Her husband kept her in a fit of suspense over Brigitta's mysterious fortune for three days, insisting that he wanted to surprise her, and that to tell her before they arrived in Paris would be to spoil it all. Finally, after a morning of making love with a very mischievous Georg, Maria demanded that he tell her what he was so pleased about, and he told her to get dressed; they would go out for lunch, and he would show her that very day.

His devious plan, it seemed, led them straight to a music shop jammed in a helter-skelter alleyway twenty minutes away from their hotel.

Maria may as well have been trying to navigate a maze in the middle of the Amazon for the extent to which she felt completely out of her depth, even as Georg pulled her cheerfully along, past display after display of musical instruments. "Darling, you know I love you, but this is really quite ridiculous!" she huffed, nearly tripping over a small step leading into the back of the shop.

Georg glanced over to her, and upon seeing her flushed face, gave a silly grin and slowed his pace. "I'm sorry, _ma chérie_. We're almost there. I just hope it hasn't been sold!"

"_What_ hasn't been sold, Georg?" Maria cried in exasperation.

Georg pointed, and Maria halted in her footsteps. In a glass box before them stood a beautiful Guarnerius; Maria gasped.

"Oh, my… this isn't an imitation; it's a real Guarneri violin?"

Georg stepped up to the case and stared down at the honey-colored violin, imagining Brigitta's nimble fingers working at the strings, bow flying. "I heard a man play this very violin once. It has a beautiful, rich sound, unlike any other I have ever heard. Her mother's Stradivarius replica will always be sufficient quality, but she needs a violin that is completely her own." He turned around and nodded at his wife. "It is indeed an authentic Guarnerius. I spoke with the shopkeeper yesterday evening, and he tells me that the previous owner sold it for much less than it is worth. He is willing to cut me a fair deal."

Quietly, Maria stepped up next to him, wrapping her arm firmly around his waist; he placed his own across his shoulders.

"I was thinking about giving this Guarnerius to Brigitta for her birthday when we return home, if you agree."

Maria wanted to be able to give him a straight yes, but all she could see at that moment was her gangly ten-year-old awkwardly trying to manipulate the violin; it was quite a bit bigger than her current one. Brigitta had gained her skills back almost overnight, and suddenly her little Stradivarius seemed too small for her skilled hands. But her playing this Guarnerius would be like Gretl trying to play Georg's or her guitar. Maria tried to stifle the sudden fit of giggles; it would be inappropriate, but she couldn't help herself. "But it's so large! Are you sure?"

Georg turned to face his wife, and a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth again. "Yes, Maria, I'm sure. She'll have to grow into it, but the opportunity of a lifetime—to own a Guarneri violin—could be gone within the hour."

"_Bonjour, Monsieur et Madame, vous désirez?"_

Georg turned to the shopkeeper, holding out a hand. The two greeted one another, the little man shook Maria's hand at Georg's introduction, and the two began to converse in rapid French, gesticulating wildly at times toward the violin. After several minutes' conversation, the shopkeeper hurried to a room behind a curtain, and Maria took the chance to ask what the situation was.

"He's going to fetch the key that unlocks the box that the Guarnerius is locked in," Georg said, pointing to the lock on the side of the box, hidden from view from Maria's vantage point.

"Georg, what will we do with such a valuable piece?" Maria asked, the issue of the value of the violin suddenly dawning on her. She twisted her wedding ring around her finger nervously and bit her lip, feeling anxious.

"I will have a lockbox secured at the hotel for it," Georg said. "We'll take it with us when we leave; we won't send it separately with our other things."

"Don't you suppose we're taking rather a risk? What if it is stolen?"

"It will be safer in a lockbox at our hotel than it is here in this glass case, don't you think?" Georg pointed out.

Maria considered this, and nodded. "You're right, of course."

At that moment, the wizened old man hurried back into the room with a violin case and tiny key in hand. He handed the case to Maria, indicating that she should hold it out for him so he could lay the violin inside it, then turned to focus his attention on the violin, which he freed from its confines easily and quickly, but his care with the instrument was utterly reverent.

"Take good care of this," he whispered to Georg. "It is a treasure."

"I am accustomed to fine treasure," Georg assured, gesturing to his wife. "She is so dear to me."

The shopkeeper looked at Georg with a piercing gaze, apparently taken with his words. "Aye," he confirmed at last, "you are a man worthy of this instrument and know the gifts you possess and have been entrusted with. Godspeed."

Georg nodded, promising to have the money for the instrument wired as soon as possible. "Tomorrow," he assured. "There should be no delay."

The shopkeeper bustled to the front of the store, beckoning that they follow, and subsequently handed Georg a sheaf of papers. "Your receipts," he explained.

"Thank you," Georg said, tucking them into the inner pocket of his jacket. Turning to Maria, he took her hand and said in German, "Come, darling, let's put this somewhere safe."

Once they were safely ensconced in their hotel suite, the violin safely stowed away, Maria asked, "What did the shopkeeper say to you before we left?"

"He asked me to take care of the violin," Georg said. "It is a rare treasure, as you know."

"What did you say? He trusted you so completely with it after you said whatever it is that you said."

Tracing Maria's jawline and leaning in to kiss her, Georg said, "I told him that I already had precious cargo, and that I knew well how to care for it."

"The children?"

"You," Georg murmured.

Maria blinked, and subsequently felt tears rising in her eyes. She was inexplicably touched by this, and though she had little idea of what words had actually been said, it had sounded utterly loving and intimate in French, that being the reason Maria had asked; the shopkeeper's reaction had merely been her excuse to ask without feeling overly silly and sentimental.

"I love you," she stated. "I love you so."

Wiping her tears away with his thumbs, Georg smiled. "I will never doubt that, my darling."

"I thought I would be embarrassed to have you look on me when morning came, after all that happened in the night," Maria whispered, "and it has been but three days. It has altogether been everything to the contrary."

Georg smiled. "Mmm, your good morning kisses never lead anywhere productive, oh wife of mine!"

"Is it strange that I delight in that?" she asked. "I love that we can kiss and fondle and be so intimate together without needing to stop or restrain ourselves?"

"No," Georg said.

"It feels so right in every single way," she mused, "and yet… yet, I wonder at it. It is so overwhelming. Knowing that I am so inexplicably in love with you, that I desire you, that there are physical things that bring to bear just what that love and desire entails."

Unable to resist the urge to tease her, Georg said, "Why must women always try to sort out why something is?"

Maria blushed. "I'm sorry, I'm sure you've heard this all too often."

Getting up to fetch the newspaper from the parlor, Georg said, "On the contrary. In all my years of existing, you are the only woman who has been able and willing to say what she feels and thinks without reserve. I must admit that I am a bit surprised."

"Because I was going to be a nun?" Maria asked.

"Because you internalized so much of what you felt and thought in the direct aftermath of your return back to us," Georg said. "I naturally assumed that much more of that happened in the weeks leading up to your flight. When I did seek you out, you were so resistant, so reticent, that I wondered if perhaps you were naturally predisposed toward keeping your thoughts to yourself."

"Have you already forgotten that shouting match we had by the lake? Or when we first met? Or… right after you told me you loved me for the first time?"

Georg quirked a smile. "That's what made me think perhaps you would prefer to keep your thoughts to yourself. Those events only happened because you were bubbling over from a barrage of thoughts and experiences and emotions; your outbursts, while most impertinent, have enormous precedent."

"I don't think you realize just how far you have taken me in these past few days, then," Maria said, eyes diverted. "Your assessment of me is not wrong… in fact, it is very much correct."

Eyes crinkling as a wide smile spread across his face, Georg put the pieces together and asked, "Surely you're not trying to say that you like sex?"

Maria had blushed a deep crimson by now, and was fiddling with her wedding ring again. "I don't _like_ it," she ventured, finally, talking to her feet. "I… I love it," she blurted out. "I love it, I love every bit of it even though I sometimes have no idea what I'm doing or what's happening to me or it hurts a bit afterwards. It feels amazing, it feels special, and it's with _you_."

"You know, Maria," Georg mused, grin still firmly in place, "I know of a book that might give you some perspective."

Maria looked up. She said uncertainly, "A book? I don't know, Georg, I don't really want diagrams and medical terminology…"

"It's in a book you know very well," he assured.

"Surely you're pulling my leg," Maria said, bewildered. "A book in a book? Is this some strange French thing?"

"Surely you've read Song of Solomon, love."

"Song of Solomon… what does this have to do with… well, with us?"

"I don't suppose you would have been told this in a convent," Georg conceded, "but there is sufficient evidence for the argument that it is a book of the Bible devoted entirely to sex."

Maria swallowed. Perhaps she should be shocked by this, but what little she could remember of the book seemed to confirm what her husband had just told her. Far from being put off, she was suddenly seized with a burning desire to devour the book and remember every word with crystal clarity.

"Read it to me," she said, and stood to fetch her Bible from where she'd placed it on her bedside table.

"Gladly," Georg smiled upon her return, taking it from her and thumbing through the worn pages to open it to the book in question.

* * *

><p>Stowe, Vermont<br>May 1945

"Darling," Maria murmured, "we really must get up now."

Still beneath the covers and cradled in the crook of his wife's arm, Georg groaned, "Must we? I'm so perfectly content to lie here all day long, in the arms of my beloved."

"To avoid a certain seven children?" Maria's fingers entangled slowly in her husband's thick, dark hair, her voice lacking just as much resolution as his. It really was lovely, with the house quiet, them warm underneath the covers, and the splendid sunrise peeking through their curtains. It was a kind of serenity that they both enjoyed in these early moments of dawn, for the rest of the day would always be filled with chaos and obligations for them both.

"Yes," Georg affirmed, "but that's not all."

Laughing, Maria said, "There's always more where you're concerned!"

Grinning devilishly, crooked smile in place, Georg obliged, "So there is. For one, I would love to sleep past dawn just once in my life. For another, lying in my lover's arms and making small talk with her is the highlight of my day. We talk about everything that is nothing. It's nice."

Maria raised an eyebrow inquiringly. "Nice?"

"Yes, precisely," he nodded. "Nice. Nice and simple and void of the nonsense I must deal with day in and day out."

"I see," Maria responded thoughtfully. "But may I remind you that on many occasions while on our honeymoon did you sleep past sunrise. Both of us did."

"That doesn't count," Georg answered immediately, pulling his wife's head down for a kiss.

Putting a hand to his chest and pushing away from his attempt to distract her, Maria asked incredulously, "Doesn't count? Need I remind you further that there were many days while in Paris in which we not only slept past dawn, but past lunch as well?"

"Well, you see, my love, the art of lovemaking requires so much from its participants that it involves them in a world of its own, and therefore has no bearing on the disruption of everyday life."

"So, essentially," Maria mused, burying her fingers in her husband's hair once again, "everyday life is one animal, so to speak, and the time we spend lovemaking and otherwise completely involved with one another is quite another."

"Yes."

"Incomparable?"

"Exactly."

Maria grinned. "I'll buy that."

"I thought you might," her husband purred, twisting around so that he was on top of her, peppering her neck and face with kisses, which caused her to laugh until she was breathless. Her writhing had twisted her nightgown around, leaving one breast partly exposed. He inched downward, his knees on either side of her body, pulling away the straps from both of her shoulders with him before he trailed kisses from her chin down to the swell of her right breast. Slowly, he licked her skin, then sat back and stared at his wife's partially nude body. Both nipples were erect, and her flesh was so delectably soft and warm.

"Another reason to stay in bed," Maria supplied, voicing his obvious train of thought. "But that also comes with seven reasons not to. And I don't think the door is locked."

Georg shook his head ruefully. "We really must get into the habit. You would think that after all these years…" He placed a long finger between her breasts and trailed it down to her stomach, drawing circles and watching the gooseflesh emerge over her bare skin. "I love watching goosebumps raise on your skin," he muttered. "It's fascinating."

"As is the sensation that comes along with it," Maria said, giving a shudder before she pulled her husband back down next to her. "It's what anticipation feels like."

"Mmm, and what of you, my dear Fräulein? Is there something about me that utterly captivates you?"

"Your hair," Maria answered without hesitation. "I love it when we're on the divan in the sitting room and you rest your head on my lap and I start to play with it. I could do it for hours; when you do get up it is as though you've taken candy from a small child. I want nothing more than to pout and pull you back down."

"I'm more or less your pet in that position then, a small dog or a cat?"

"If it suits your fancy, then yes," Maria bantered.

A most incredulous look crossed Georg's face, and he exclaimed with some consternation, "Absolutely not!"

"And so the game comes full circle," his wife said simply, grinning as she tapped her sea captain on the nose. "From one insult to the next."

"Who said we were playing any games?"

"Who said we were talking of nothing?" Snuggling back into her husband's arms, Maria assured, "That's what makes these mornings so lovely, though. All that we have need of is another little something to discuss."

"For instance?"

"You need a haircut."

Amused, Georg asked, "Back to my hair again, are we?"

"It's lovely, Georg, it truly is, but if you let it get much longer you'll be able to tie it back!"

"A slight exaggeration, love," Georg jibed, placing a kiss in the hollow of Maria's neck. "Didn't your mother ever tell you what happens to little girls who tell tall tales? Their noses grow a length according to the size of each fib they tell!"

"Oooh," Maria moaned, grabbing her nose, "it's long enough as it is! Don't jinx me!"

"Your fixation with your nose is so entirely unfounded," Georg declared, kissing it. "I certainly hope our offspring take after you more than they do me where their noses are concerned!"

"At least your nose has character," Maria quipped. "Mine is more or less an awful sort of ski slope. If it was a ski slope, those who brave it would certainly meet their deaths."

"Nonsense," Georg said firmly. "I've never seen a more perfect nose on a more fitting woman. Mine used to be straight once upon a time, but I'm afraid mine only speaks of the trouble I managed to get myself into as a schoolboy. It's nothing noble or of good character, I assure you."

"Well, if our children must have my nose, then they must certainly have your eyes," Maria muttered. "And the dark hair. I've always disliked mine."

Taking a lock of Maria's hair, Georg observed, "It has gotten darker in these past years. You can see the hints of red much better. I wouldn't put it past you to give birth to a red-headed baby. And with my eyes and your nose, it would be a smashing combination. A little charmer."

"Mmm," Maria said ruefully, "I don't spend as much time outdoors as I once did!"

"Maria," Georg murmured, "I hope you did not feel I was pushing you when we talked a few weeks ago."

Raising an eyebrow, Maria said, "Correct me if I am wrong, but were we not quite busy making love?"

"I got the, uh, impression that you did not want to talk about it. And then you said later that you would remove the diaphragm. I did not even think to make sure you were actually comfortable with the prospect. We… have been a bit prolific of late."

"So much so that even you, Georg von Trapp, feel a bit skittish to admit it," Maria grinned wickedly.

"Not skittish," Georg corrected, "just… grateful. Sometimes I can hardly fathom that what we have is real."

Drawing away and turning over so that she could rummage in the drawer of her bedside table, Maria found what she was looking for, a small container that she flipped open for her husband to see.

"I can't promise that I won't occasionally backpedal in my feelings after such a long war that will have far-reaching consequences," Maria said, "but I _do_ want a child, your child, and this device is formally retired. I removed it as I said I would."

"I did not doubt you," Georg said. "I just want to be sure that this is what you want and that this is something you are ready for."

"I don't know if anyone is ever truly ready to do anything so huge as have a child," Maria mused, tossing the contraceptive device back into the drawer and shutting it, "but I have you, and we've had a late start to something we both hoped would have begun at least five years ago." She sighed. "I know we have been fairly deliberate in avoiding conception, but I do wonder…"

"Yes?" Georg prodded.

"Oh," Maria shrugged. "I'm sure it's nothing, but... well, six weeks in Paris yielded nothing, and when we were in Switzerland we didn't partake frequently, but we did partake somewhat recklessly…"

"True," Georg agreed, "but I have seen some truly remarkable things in my life. Some women want to conceive so badly that it only happens once they've stopped actively thinking of it and trying to succeed. Some are so resolute against it and yet are with child at the drop of a hat. And then there are some that seem to manage to see the results they want through nothing but sheer force of will, despite the odds."

"I am assuming you see me in the last category," Maria commented. "Thank you for your patience in it, Georg. It means more than you can ever know."

"I don't think it would have ever been particularly reasonable of me to demand that we have children. I would have been happy if you decided that you would rather not have any. I do have seven already, as it were, and you said to me once that having a child had never entered your mind when you were young because you never envisioned yourself in that way of life. I would have understood. But," he continued, "you did not say 'never.' You said when the unrest was settled. On our terms. And that surprised me, to some extent."

"Surprised you?"

"Yes. You were determined to have what you thought we should have, and yet not let it fall into the utter depravity that was our life as Baron and Baroness. You did not want a child to be a marker worthy of the gossip mill, but a being brought forth entirely from love on a timetable that would give him or her its best chance in every way."

"I admit I never thought of it that way, myself," Maria mused. "I was so gripped by revulsion and fear when I told you my terms that I could not clearly visualize what it would mean for a child."

"You also surprised me in speaking of it before we married. It required you to speak of intimacy, something which was certainly to be seen as improper, and you were somewhat shy for a while after we engaged to be married. But you spoke of it regardless, determined that our relationship should be in its best form possible, propriety be damned, and you were prepared to leave me if us being together meant more detriment than good. Though I still think that line of logic was flawed, I cannot help but respect you for it. That took incredible strength."

"I don't think I ever thanked you for how you responded to my hysteria," Maria said, looking up at her husband's face, one hand splayed across his chest, the other reaching to touch his face.

"_Au contraire_, love," Georg assured, "you have thanked me so many times over that I fear I am hopelessly indebted to you."

"Well," Maria said, "thank you, anyway." Pushing herself up, Maria kissed his chin lightly and settled back down comfortably. "I am expecting my cycle sometime soon, but after that... you can start working on paying off that debt, show me how a naval captain so efficiently expands his ranks. You've provided quite the advance, though, I must say."

"Maria," Georg asked, smiling at her relaxed humor as he wrapped his arms around his wife, "were you surprised to find how different a man I am around my children?"

Craning her neck, Maria looked at her husband's face, pondering a moment before she answered. When she did, it came carefully: "At first, yes, I think I was surprised. Mostly because everything I'd seen beforehand indicated that you were cold and unfeeling. But the more I watched you with your children, the more I saw that when you're in their world, you're truly comfortable and happy. I started loving you when you blew that stupid whistle, but I fell in love with you that day we did the puppet show for you and Max and Baroness Schröder. I think a part of me knew that a loving man must be hidden inside, otherwise you would have done away with them all long before I came. Besides, how could I not fall in love with a man who grovels at my feet so beautifully, telling me his world was righted again and he'd missed his children?"

Georg buried his face in her hair, squeezing her tight in his embrace. "You've no idea how long I have wanted to ask... I don't want to be that cold man, Maria, not now and not ever again. I will do everything in my power to be the best father to our child."

Maria could hear feet pounding not too far away. Sitting up and pulling off her nightgown, she leaned over to kiss her husband tenderly, whispering, "I know, sweetheart, I know," before untangling herself from the sheets and hurrying to shower before breakfast.

She felt somewhat guilty for having rushed from the bedroom after such an emotional entreaty, but even though the children were much older now and knew better than to burst on their parents, Maria had long possessed an internal alarm bell that propelled her out of any potentially compromising situations the moment she heard telltale footsteps from the second floor, and it was a compulsion that Georg still teased her for, and sometimes sulked over.

He appeared in the kitchen not long after she put the coffee on the stove, and she knew she was in the clear when he placed his hands on her hips and bent his neck to pepper her bare neck and sloping shoulders with kisses.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "We can talk tonight."

"Ugh," came Gretl's voice from the hall not a minute later, cutting off any reply Georg had on his lips, "Kurt, stop it, you're being a _jerk_!"

Brow furrowing, Maria turned toward the noise and asked, "Jerk?"

"I think it means something like 'incorrigible pain in the neck,'" Georg supplied. "Not particularly bad, but not particularly nice, either."

Maria waved a hand, returning her attention to breakfast preparations. "Let it go."

But the cause of Gretl's loud altercation with her brother became clear momentarily: she was supporting Max, who was struggling to stand upright and walk to his seat at the table. The girl helped him to sit, then turned to her mother, clearly incensed. "Mother, I asked Kurt to find the cane we got for Uncle Max and he ignored me!"

"I didn't hear you, Gretl, _geez_," Kurt said, frustrated. "Why do you take everything so personally?"

Maria observed her children, then turned to Max, who was watching them with argue pained amusement. He was clutching his side and wheezing. "Max!" she exclaimed, "what happened?"

"Fell," he explained. "Tripped over my slippers in the bathroom."

"No," Gretl said, "Kurt left his shoes and dirty clothes in there, I saw it!"

Inwardly groaning, Maria said, "If you saw it, why didn't you remove them so that your Uncle Max wouldn't trip and hurt himself?" She was preparing a cup of coffee as she said this, and set it in front of Max as she looked up at her daughter sternly.

"I was telling Kurt to clean up his things and that's when Uncle Max fell!" Gretl insisted, angry tears springing to her eyes.

"Maria, it's alright, I'll be fine," Max said a bit weakly.

"No," she said, rounding on him. "I will drive the car into town and you will see Dr. Stiles as soon as possible. I'll phone Laverne so she knows to squeeze you in."

Georg, who had disappeared in the interval, reappeared with Max's cane in hand and handed it to his friend. "I apologize for the terrible behavior of the petulant children I did not know lived under my roof," he said bitingly, gaze on his youngest son and daughter. They at least had the grace to appear chastised.

Gretl shot her brother a dirty look and he muttered under his breath, "_Dummkopf._"

"Kurt!" Georg thundered, having seen the exchange, "much as you would like to think otherwise, you are responsible for what happened, and though Gretl did not handle the situation as well as she might have, you did nothing to help rectify it, and you were the direct cause! You are nineteen years old—hardly acceptable behavior!"

The boy scowled and tramped out the kitchen door, slamming it behind him.

Maria said from her place at the sink where she was washing fruit, "We need to find something for him to do with himself."

"Don't pity him, Maria," Georg said coolly. He was watching his son kick at rocks as he walked to the barn from the window. "He made choices he has to live with."

"That's not fair," Maria said admonishingly. "I wish you would consider letting him join you with the maple trees."

"He argues too much over simple work," Georg sighed. "He slows me down. Or inadvertently damages the trees."

"What about photography?" Max asked, setting down his steaming cup of coffee. "I seem to remember that he took a number of engagement pictures for you, and a couple on your wedding day, Maria."

"The camera never made it out of Austria," Maria explained, "and he was so distraught over it that he refused to let us get him a new one. The pattern has continued over the past years."

"Hmm," Max said, falling quiet.


	7. Part I: Chapter 6

Paris, France  
>September 1937<p>

"What is that?" Maria asked, pointing toward a street vendor's cart. He was pouring some sort of thin batter onto a steaming, round griddle, spreading it around so that it made a perfect circle. Moving it about carefully, he eventually flipped it, so that the raw side would cook, too. Maria watched, fascinated, as he filled it with a mix of berries and folded the thing, which looked like a very flat pancake to Maria, into a neat triangle and drizzled it with chocolate.

"Ah, love," Georg said, eyes sparkling at Maria's obvious desire to go over and watch the whole process up close. He was fairly sure he could see her beginning to salivate at the sight of the fresh fruit and melted chocolate. 'Those are crêpes. This is how they're made here on the streets of Paris!"

"I've seen people ordering crêpes when we were in Vienna," Maria said, "but they were always rolled!"

"When in Rome," Georg said with a pat of her hand. "Shall we go watch him work?"

Maria needed no further invitation; she practically dragged Georg over to the stand and watched, transfixed, as the vendor fulfilled various orders: berry mixes with chocolate drizzle, banana and chocolate, plain chocolate, whipped cream and fruit, butter and sugar, ham and cheese. The combinations seemed endless. She found herself moaning as the smell inundated her senses, making her aware of just how hungry she was. On cue, her stomach growled.

Georg grinned at this and pulled her into line, ordering a savoury crêpe for himself, and for Maria, a sweet crêpe filled to brimming with fresh, cold raspberries and strawberries, a huge dollop of whipped cream in the mix, topped off by a generous swirl of chocolate and folded up accordingly, all of this warmed slightly by the piping hot, thin pankcake.

The vendor watched with amused pleasure as Maria bit into her crêpe, clearly enraptured by it.

"Please, tell him that it is simply the most delicious thing I have ever eaten!" she exclaimed upon swallowing the first bite.

Georg obliged, translating, and laughed at the man's response, which he repeated back to Maria: "He says the look on your face is thanks enough, and that you may have another on the house if we happen upon him again."

"Oh, thank you!" Maria cried, and it seemed the man required no translation for this, and he simply waved a hand, broad smile on his face, as if to say "Oh, it's nothing."

"I like Parisians," Maria decided as the two of them walked away together, heading toward the shopping district.

Georg bit his tongue, fighting the urge to correct Maria's perception, for he realized that Maria had been wildly popular with just about every Parisian they had met, and so she had no reason to expect them to be anything otherwise. She charmed them easily and quickly, and did not even know it. Georg could not quite put his finger on how she managed it, though if he had to guess, it was down to her genuinely charitable nature. He was sure the crêpe vendor hadn't had such an effusive thank you from a customer in years, if at all.

"What are we doing tonight?" Maria asked sometime later. "You said something about a dinner invitation."

"Yes," Georg affirmed, "An old friend of mine could not make it to the wedding, but kindly invited us to a big soiree his wife is throwing, on the off chance that we might be able to accept."

"A man you haven't seen in years knew you were taking me to Paris for honeymoon before I did?" Maria asked indignantly.

Drawing an arm tight around Maria's waist, Georg soothed, "I had also been inquiring about last-minute tickets for shows and operas, and he guessed that I, being a creature of incredible habit, would want to bring you here."

"Oh," Maria said. "You brought Agathe here, of course."

Glancing over at his wife as they walked, Georg wondered if she was somehow upset by this, and was not sure how to proceed. She had been more than generous about his late wife, even claiming that she would like to know everything there was to know about the woman, but it could not be easy for Maria. She must feel at times that she walked in a shadow.

"I brought Agathe here because she wanted to use the time to shop for finery for herself," Georg said finally. "Vienna has some of the best couturiers in the world, but Paris fashion often outstrips it by miles, and she was excited by the prospect. And she was so excited at the prospect of starting a family that she even ordered myriad things for a nursery and had them sent home."

"Why did you bring _me_ here?" Maria asked, filled with honest curiosity. The shops here in Paris _were_ exquisite and the fashion unspeakably breathtaking, but it was hardly a burning desire. She felt a flush rise up her neck at the thought of what she _did_ have a burning desire for.

Meeting her gaze, face upturned, her nose looking positively irresistible in its tilt toward the skies, Georg pecked it and said, "Because it is a city that I love for its culture and life, and I knew you would delight in it completely. The operas, the shows, the recitals, the museums, the sights, and even the parties. You take everything you experience in life as a great wonder to be discovered and reveled in entirely, whether you decide at the end of it that you liked or disliked it."

"Oh," Maria said, warmth flooding through her chest at this. "I hadn't known you had put so much thought into it."

"I very nearly did not decide on time," Georg revealed. "I thought perhaps Italy—Florence or Venice—but it did not feel quite right for honeymooning. Paris, though, it has this crackle in the atmosphere, and there's something about how the city is planed that makes its perspective from any vantage point utterly calming, despite the helter-skelter hodgepodge of shops in the streets of the arrondissements of Paris. It is, at once, closed and open, and there is so much history and art here. I also thought that the opportunities to escort you to social gatherings would be more plentiful, and that it would give you a chance to settle into your role as Baroness von Trapp without so much pressure. The French don't think much of Teutonic nobility," Georg grinned. "They acknowledge it, but that is essentially all they do."

Maria laughed at this, but sobered quickly. "I am not jealous, nor am I angry," she assured earnestly. "I did not mean to make you feel you had to justify the choice of Paris—I am hardly qualified to comment on what places in the world would be most appropriate for honeymooning!"

Sitting with Maria at a table outside a small café, Georg took both of her hands in his and said honestly, "I know how it can look, the fact that I have brought you to the place where I brought my late wife. But I was quite sure that the difference would be palpable, and that the two experiences could not possibly compare. You have no ghost to worry over, not with me. I promise."

Maria smiled a gentle smile, shaking her head. "You are a silly man, sometimes. How can I ever envy the woman who brought you such joy and bore you seven children that lit up my life? I told you—I rather wish I could have known her."

"How awkward that would have been," Georg joked, but he could see it in his mind's eye, as though Maria and Agathe, though two _entirely_ different women, were best friends, or a set of conspiring cousins or sisters. Agathe would have loved Maria, Georg was certain. They both had a gentle honesty that seemed to radiate around them, and they delighted in so many of the same things: family, music, faith, him.

Sitting in the front garden of a French café with Maria, Georg felt himself overwhelmed with suddenly with intense gratitude for how incredibly blessed he was in this life. He didn't deserve any of it, by far, and yet it was right here in front of him. He had more than he had a right to have, and he was happier than he had a right to be. It did not seem as though such a thing was fair or allowable, but the fates had aligned, and here he was, well of misery banished and infused with every reason to love life as much as—no, more than—he once had.

He still had crippling moments of self-doubt when he looked at Maria and saw the young, spritely woman that she was, feeling that perhaps he had been selfish to claim her as his wife, the woman who held his heart and soul. There was no returning from that level of belonging.

"Georg," Maria's gentle voice broke through his thoughts, "you're far away. Come back to me."

He turned his gaze from the spot over his shoulder, eyes landing right on hers. She didn't just look at him. He couldn't possibly just look at her. They saw into each other, and she was seeing him right now. She did not ask where he was. She only asked him to return, pulling him so easily and completely from the ditch his mind still landed him in in the quiet moments when he tried to comprehend the magnitude of the gift he had been given in her.

And though it was not quantifiable, by any means, as he squeezed her hands and said, "I'm right here, love," he knew that he could never, ever take it for granted.

* * *

><p>Stowe, Vermont<br>May 1945

"Oof," Maria winced, trying to steer the car carefully over the bumps in the road. "I'm sorry, Max! I'm trying to make this as painless as possible for you, but these roads aren't ideal for those who have broken a rib!"

"I assure you," Max said tightly, clutching his side, "this is but a small tribulation to have suffered with respect to all else I have seen in recent years."

Maria glanced at Max askance at these words, feeling somewhat perturbed by them. "I wish you would tell us what happened to you," she said quietly. "We have seen the papers by now, all of us, and Louisa brought home a copy of Life Magazine. It looks… horrid."

"I had it easy," Max said in a low voice. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"Still," Maria said. "We would feel better knowing what you've been through so we know best how to help you."

"Sometimes I wonder if it's more for others' benefit that we share our trials and tribulations," Max said in response. At the severe look that Maria cast him, however, he put his hands up in surrender and said, "I know well enough that my appearance alone warrants explanation, Maria, never mind my poor health. It's just… unspeakable. I haven't found the words to say it out loud. But I did keep a journal of sorts while I traveled here, and I have it with me. I will give it to you and Georg. The children are not to know."

Maria blinked at this, wondering if perhaps this journal Max spoke of was the reason he had been content to spend so much of his time in the guest bedroom that she had prepared for him. "You've been adding to it, haven't you?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."

"We do not mean to nag, or to make you uncomfortable," Maria said, sensing perhaps that an apology was in order, feeling badly for needling the man beside her.

"You all have been more gracious than I ever could have imagined, Maria," Max said with feeling, his voice becoming raspy with emotion. "You have sheltered me, fed me, cared for me, made me a part of your family again, all without expecting much in return. I have felt nothing but love and respect from you and Georg. You only ask now for my story because you believe it will help me to heal."

Sighing, Maria said, "It may, Max. Perhaps it will not, but the past eight years have shown me inexplicably that trials are not meant to be faced alone."

Curiously, Max looked at Maria. "What did happen to the von Trapps after I bid them farewell at the Salzburg Folk Festival?"

Biting back the urge to complain over his question when he would not answer her own, she conceded to answer him. This was the most interactive he had been in the month since she and Georg had gone to collect him from the immigration docks.

"We made it to Switzerland, and then immediately began to make plans to travel to England. We spent about six months in Switzerland, a few weeks in Italy, and a year and a half in England, living with Agathe's parents and arranging passage to America under claims of political asylum as war refugees. We arrived in New York by a steamer, prepared to live in a little ramshackle dwelling on the outskirts of the city while we waited for the money Georg had arranged to wire to America to come through. We found this place completely unexpectedly, and bought it after a brief tour of the lodge."

"I daresay it cost all that you had to spend," Max commented, looking pensive.

"Nearly," Maria nodded. "What we had left, we spent on repairs. We took the place based almost solely on the fact that it had enough bedrooms to house us all, and then some."

"And yet you would have lived in that barn, if you had to," Max teased, to which Maria laughed.

"I think perhaps Georg would have put a very firm foot down at that!"

"Hmm, yes, he was never afraid to rough it in a U-boat or on a ship," Max agreed, "but he does enjoy his creature comforts where they are opportune."

"He's been thinking of adding a great hall to the chalet, to make It a real lodge," Maria said. "We get a great deal of traffic during the maple syrup season. We do all sorts of things in winter, from sap extraction demonstrations to great groups coming to watch us boil down the sap for syrup or molasses. Sometimes we even have a bit of a festival, where people can come and make their own maple candies if there is enough snow."

"How do you mean?" Max asked. "Making candy from snow?"

"If you boil the syrup to the correct consistency," Maria explained, "you get this wonderful, tacky paste of sorts that can be drizzled over fistfuls of snow. It freezes and hardens into soft candy."

"You're making my mouth water just speaking of it," Max said, grinning at his personal chauffeur.

"Georg has been keeping a close eye on the trees this year," Maria said. "He thinks we will have a plentiful harvest. You will have to help! But in the meantime, I have a gallon or two of syrup left from last year's harvest that the children have not yet managed to make disappear. I can make you a pancake brunch when we get home."

"I wouldn't want to impose on your afternoon," Max said, "though I thank you for the invitation. Perhaps on a weekend, we can all have a great big American breakfast!"

Pulling into the town square, Maria parked the car alongside the general store and placed a warm hand on Max's wrist. "I think perhaps Georg and I have had a bit too much time to ourselves, of late, wouldn't you say?"

Smirking as he realized that Maria would not take offense by his saying so, Max agreed, saying, "Alright, I will admit that you two sometimes make an old man's afternoon nap a bit difficult to come by, but," he continued, stopping Maria with a raised hand, who had opened her mouth to apologize, "I cannot bring myself to complain about it. It warms my heart to know that even after all these years, you and Georg are so close and hold each other so dear."

Maria could not argue with this, though she felt the need to amend, "We are not always so… disruptive. We take a walk through the grounds, or read poetry, or look at the papers together."

Waving a hand as he moved gingerly to open his door, Max said, "Please, do not feel the need to justify a thing to me. You are husband and wife, and I am a guest in your home, after all! The accommodations cannot always be so grand as that lavish villa back in Aigen."

Maria sighed, shaking her head at Max's impossible priorities, and moved to help him cross the street and enter Dr. Stiles' office. Laverne looked up from her place at the reception desk with a concerned smile, gesturing for Maria to sign him in. "I'll take him back this minute," she said. "James can see him straight away."

"Thank you," Maria said gratefully, taking Max's hat and walking stick from him as he accepted Laverne's proffered arm with good grace and hobbled slowly to the examination rooms in the back of the building.

Maria sat quietly in a chair that was placed in the cozy reception area, waiting for Laverne to reappear. She cast about for a crossword or Life magazine to look at while she waited, having no one to talk to in the empty waiting room.

Laverne returned after about ten minutes, and Maria looked up from the crossword puzzle she had begun to cypher through, making a split decision. "Laverne," she said, prompting her friend to look over and smile at her, "does your husband by any chance have some time free after he examines and treats Max? I want to speak with him."

"Everything is alright, I hope," Laverne said, a worried eye traveling over Maria. "You are alright? Georg and the children are healthy?"

"Oh, they're all fine, and I'm fine—or, at least, I hope so, but I just want to be sure of something."

Laverne's expression relaxed, and she smiled reassuringly. "You look fit as a fiddle, dear friend," she said, "but yes, James can see you right after he finishes with Max. It has not been a particularly busy day."

"Thank you," Maria said, relieved.

A half hour later, Max emerged from the back rooms, moving slowly, but unaided. "He gave me a new wrap to wear," Max indicated, pointing to his ribcage, "and some more painkillers to take until things have had a chance to heal further."

"Ribs take a few months to heal properly," came Dr. Stiles' voice from behind Max. He smiled when he saw Maria waiting with Max's things, greeting her hello. To his patient, he said sternly, "You are not to overtax yourself, Mr. Detweiler!"

"Hardly," Max said, eyes meeting Maria's amused ones.

"Max, if you can make your way to the car on your own, I would like a few minutes to talk with Dr. Stiles myself," Maria said, getting to her feet and handing Max his things. "It shouldn't be long."

"Certainly," Max said, but his brow furrowed.

"Nothing to worry about," Maria assured, "I just need a quick word."

"What can I do for you, Maria?" Dr. Stiles asked as he followed the woman into an examination room and shut the door behind him with a click. "You're well, I hope?"

"Oh, yes, I believe so," Maria said quickly, "I just wanted to ask you if you knew of a specialist I could see, just to be sure that I can become pregnant."

Gesturing that Maria should take a seat on one of the chairs in the little room, the doctor sat down on his stool and asked, "Has there been anything to give you particular cause for concern? Are your cycles regular?"

"Yes," Maria affirmed, "usually give or take a couple days. It's just… with the war over now, we, I, am ready to begin attempting to conceive a child. I was thinking, and we have always been somewhat… enthusiastic."

Smiling slightly at Maria's struggle to find a word that fairly described relations with her husband, the doctor said, "You're wondering if it was more than sheer dumb luck that you didn't conceive before now, then?"

"Well, yes," Maria nodded, "especially with the knowledge that our honeymoon did not even produce the question of whether I had conceived. Of course, the time immediately afterward was an indescribable, fear-filled hurry, but... there was never any indication to divert my attention otherwise."

Dr. Stiles was about to say something to the effect of honeymoons not being bona fide grounds for conception in the marriage bed, no matter how long or short, but he was a shrewd man, realizing quickly Maria's meaning, and nodded his head. "I see."

Maria swallowed, and looked down at her hands, fiddling with her wedding ring. "I would like to know sooner rather than later, as not to bank hopes on the impossible."

"I cannot speak for why you never conceived then," Dr. Stiles said, "though I could wax on long about various theories that have come to light these days, some of which postulate that frequent intimacy results in lower fertility in the male. Nothing in the research literature has supported this consistently, and there are only a handful of not-very-scientific studies," he said, "but it is not entirely unreasonable to assume it is part of the equation. Of course, this is not my particular area of expertise, so I am not as well-read on the matter as others, but it seems to be the general consensus."

"I suppose…" Maria trailed, "but, it doesn't explain how we went years with nothing. We are not always so prolific, after all!"

"You did say you were keeping note of your cycle, though, and that you find it is fairly consistent," Dr. Stiles pointed out. "Did you continue once you obtained the diaphragm?"

"Not quite so strictly," Maria confessed, "but I did, yes."

"If you have discontinued use, then I don't see why you wouldn't fall pregnant within the next six months," Dr. Stiles assured. "You are very aware of your body by necessity, and you can use that to your advantage. I see no cause for concern. Is it possible that you've already conceived?"

Maria shook her head. "I don't think so."

"If it would make you feel more at ease, I can give you the name of a good friend of mine that is a well-respected obstetrician. He practices in Montpelier." Turning around to the counter behind him, Dr. Stiles turned to scribble the name and address of the obstetrician on his prescription pad. Handing it to Maria, he reiterated, "I don't think there is anything particularly alarming, here, Maria. Sometimes sheer force of will is the key to these things. You have been very determined that you not conceive during wartime, understandably. Now, things are shifting about. Just give it a bit of time."

Folding over the paper and tucking it into her coat pocket, Maria asked, "Do you think he could see me soon?"

"I can telephone him and give him a heads up for you, if you like," Dr. Stiles smiled warmly. "I have included his receptionist's number for you, but I can call him directly. He won't want to see you if you are menstruating, though. A week or two past tends to be best, in the case that he needs to perform an exam."

"Right," Maria nodded matter-of-factly. Holding out her hand, she took the doctor's hand and shook it firmly. "Thank you, Dr. Stiles," she said earnestly. "I feel much more reassured, now."

Maria offered Laverne a cheerful smile and mouthed "talk later" to her friend on her way out the door, and once she was out in the sunshine, released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. It had been so long since she had a need to speak so frankly about such matters with a man who was not her husband!

If the presiding doctor had been anyone else, Maria doubted she would have been able to find it in her to be so candid, but this man was of an easygoing spirit, he made it easy to talk to him, and Maria never felt as though he was judging her personally for whatever malady came to his attention, whether it was one of intimate importance such as this one of her own or some illness with her seven children over the years. Once, she had even dragged Georg to see him, demanding that her husband allow his broken foot to be examined and set to heal properly. He had given her husband a firm scolding, but had known better than to say anything particularly patronizing to the man, fully aware that he would not take kindly to it.

Walking across the square to where Max sat waiting in the car, Maria smiled brightly at him and called, "All is well!"

"That is wonderful news," Max smiled, eyes crinkling as his head swiveled to follow Maria, who came around to the front of the vehicle, slid in, and started the engine.

"Do you have to work with Mrs. Higgins, today, Maria?"

Driving away from the town square, Maria shook her head. "No. I thought I would spend some time in the gardens today and hand graze the horse. He has not got out much, of late." Glancing at Max as she turned down the narrow, dusty road that led to their lodge, Maria asked, "Why?"

"I would like to give you my records from the war for you and Georg to go over at your leisure," he shrugged.

"Max, if you would rather not, I will understand," Maria said quietly.

"No, I have meant to tell you both, but as I said… I could not find the words. I still feel as though my tongue has been fastened to the roof of my mouth every time I try to articulate what sorts of things happened in the time that you left and I arrived here. And… part of me is deeply ashamed."

"Ashamed!" Maria cried, "What ever do you mean by that?"

"Do you remember, Maria, how when you and Georg arrived home from honeymoon, that I told you he should at least attempt to get along with the new Nazi regime?"

"Yes."

"And how angry Georg became every time I declared ambivalent political allegiance?"

Thinking of some particularly impassioned rants she had been subject to while alone with Georg in Paris, Maria nodded.

"Well, he was right," Max said. "And I was wrong. Very, very wrong. And I have paid a steep price for it. In some way, I can't help but think that I deserve it."

Maria was horrified by this pronouncement, and said sharply, "No! Max, surely not! No one deserves the atrocities Hitler inflicted! Not only did he try to obliterate an entire race, but he also ruined the strongest, youngest generation of working age, crippling them with the burdens of all they had done in the name of their _Führer_!"

"You've been reading the papers," Max joked feebly. "Don't pity them too much. Or me."

"Many innocents were unwitting victims of the Nazi manifesto even as they carried it out," Maria said quietly. "Some of them were fellow countrymen." She was thinking of Rolfe in this moment, and how he had been so young—only seventeen, according to Liesl. Caught up in the glamour of a purpose greater than himself, assigning his life meaning and importance. She could never say such a thing to Georg, who would surely turn apoplectic at the mere mention of the boy, never mind to hear that she even had any feelings of pity for those a part of the Nazi machine. But Max, she knew, was less likely to view such a thing as this in absolutes of right and wrong, good and evil.

"Perhaps you are right in that," Max said, "but they all managed to contribute to horrible suffering."

The drive home continued in silence, and Maria accepted the things Max handed to her before he shuffled off to his bedroom without a word. There were several full journals and a file that seemed fit to bursting with sheaves of paper.

Taking them to Georg's private study, Maria left them on the desk and went to fetch her husband. Now was as good a time as any, she decided. It was time to know what had happened to their friend.

"Max is ready to give us his story," Maria said to her husband, kneeling down to crouch beside him.

"He'll tell us now?" Georg asked, eyes wide.

Maria shook her head. "No, but he kept journals. He gave me several, with a file full of other papers. I left it in your study and went to find you. He asked that the children never know what he's giving us."

Georg stood slowly, brushing his hands together, and then onto his pants. "Let me wash up. Put some tea on. We'll go to my study and read everything together."

The journals read like a nightmare one could only dream of. Max had not been arrested by Zeller and his cronies in the night of the festival from which the von Trapps had escaped, but eventually, a posse showed up at the villa in Aigen, where Max had agreed to stay, keep the place maintained and waiting for the von Trapps to return to.

They had grilled him for information and threatened him with his life, but left eventually, allowing Max to breathe a great sigh of relief. They left him to fly inconspicuously under the radar for several months, then the anti-Semitic laws began to be strictly enforced, and Max knew he had to flee.

His mistake had been to resist the urge to do so; instead, he enlisted a a friend of the Nazi party, hoping to remain inconspicuous by ingratiating himself with them, one of the things that Max knew best how to do. It was so ludicrous, and yet it bespoke his typical character. If the situation had not been so dire, it would have been comical, too comical for words.

He had new papers forged, erasing the records of his Jewish lineage and of Maximilian Detweiler, and took up with a woman working for top Nazi brass, living with her as a lover. The scheme worked, and it worked admirably well: Max had become a curator of fine art and instruments, and the assignment had sent him all over Central and Eastern Europe, collecting and appraising and exploiting precious art from all over, in all the places that the Reich aimed to touch one day and quickly did.

He mingled amongst the elite of Nazi brass, making sly friends and believing himself slyer still. He forged great connections, acquired considerable wealth and prestige, and then, four years into a charade that was working so beautifully for him, his companion announced that she was with child, and she threatened to reveal Max's identity for the danger it posed to her to carry his child. For what it was worth, Max believed she was lying about the baby's parentage, and wondered if this child even existed, for her terms were to give her an exorbitant amount of money and she would remain silent. Caught in an ever-worsening state of affairs, Max had taken the chance, gambling a great deal of his fortune on the woman's demands, hoping that she would take it and continue to live peaceably.

That was not to be. A week later, Max came home to find an ambush waiting for him, his mistress in their company and quite unbound. In fact, she was dressed smartly in full Nazi regalia, eyes stone cold as she gazed on him and utterly unfeeling. He had been double-crossed. Completely duped. His companion had been a double agent keeping tabs on him from the day he left Aigen to pursue a career among his enemies, believing that he could compromise and lie his way through it, as long as he did nothing to draw overt attention to himself.

He was arrested that night and held for nearly a year for interrogation as a political prisoner before being sent to the work camp Ebensee, newly established in Austria. Max spared all facets of this experience, except to describe with great detail the myriad underground armament tunnels that the prisoners were forced to help build until they literally dropped dead or were shot at near-death. Though Max did not consider himself to be a great navigator, he had kept certain papers hidden in the sole of his shoes, and had used that to draw maps of the tunnels, detailing the massive network. With the skilled help of some fast friends in the tunnels, Max was able to plan an escape route by building a tunnel under the jurisdiction of a young, green Nazi officer that did not understand what was expected of this particular sector of the tunnels, and was simply relying on the knowledge of his superior officers and the prisoners under his command to get by.

A smooth and consummate sponge, Max had oiled the man's already-inflated sense of ego, showing him from the maps he himself had created how if this tunnel were built just so, it would allow another quick point of entrance for emergency parachutes, and make a quick means to arrest and punishment for foreign air force pilots that were shot down from overhead. That it had worked at all was a miracle, for Max and several accomplices escaped on a night when this green officer was busy examining a gold watch he had just shot an old Roma man for possessing: the planned foil, this man had insisted it would be his contribution to the escape effort, and as he was an old man, he was ready to die and meet his maker. Besides, he had reasoned, he would rather die now from a quick bullet through his head than from being worked to the death.

Closer to Germany than any other country, Max and his company had relied on the knowledge of one of their number about the Austrian Resistance groups, which was sketchy and volatile at best, and though some miraculous feat, arrived in the sole remaining safe haven, Switzerland, several months later, wholly indebted to total strangers for their kindness and hospitality; of course, the relationship was not so one-sided: the Resistance members were more than glad to extract whatever its patrons knew of Nazi plans and movements—here, Max found himself only too glad to hand over the maps that had been made in his nearly two years in the armaments tunnels, considering it his best contribution to the war effort against the Nazi regime.

_It was my greatest mistake to ever believe that I could get along with these animals_, he wrote. _The depravity that so many of them displayed was incomprehensible to me, and yet even as they would talk casually of murdering Jews and Catholics and Roma and homosexuals, their grabby hands all over the latest pretty Aryan girl waiting to earn the favor of one officer and have him impregnate her with the future of the Reich, I turned a blind eye, believing myself impervious. Believing that as long as I continued good work and kept my chin down, I would arouse no cause for concern._

_Perhaps I should have been more concerned that I would be connected to the escaped von Trapps, even with a new name and new papers. But Gauleiter Zeller's status did not last when he lost the Reich's prized crown jewel to elective exile right under his nose. I did not think I would have much cause to worry, creating a new life and new identity._

_But as it turns out, my actions resulted in some of the worst possible consequences. I can only hope that the von Trapps have found peace, comfort, and happiness. As I recall the utter hell I lived through from the day I was arrested as a traitor to the regime, I know I was always in the wrong._

_A lost empire jaded me when I was young, making it hard to believe in casting allegiance so staunchly, though von Trapp lived and breathed lifelong allegiance. Perhaps that is what allows him to find such a woman as Maria Rainer and take her as his helpmeet and wife and lover. That I could have been so lucky. I tried it, and it failed so miserably. I walked blindly into a dire situation, having believed Georg to be the mistaken one for his blind allegiance to a time, and empire, a life gone by. Out with the old and in with the new, so to speak._

_I should have realized the error of my ways long before this. But I am a foolish man, aged now far before my time. It has been altogether humbling and terrifying, and I hope every night when I close my eyes that I might not wake. It would be so much easier than escaping an identity that I never claimed as my own once in my life, much to the chagrin of my mother. Perhaps I should have. Perhaps my eyes would have been opened sooner. I have never known what pain it was to live with regrets. This kind of tortured existence does not suit me. I don't know if I shall ever arrive back to myself ever again. Those days of champagne and parties and merriment and music seem so far away now, as if it were only a dream. A dream we were all so terribly foolish to dream._

_What a horrible prospect, believing that to envision a better world for ourselves and the children of the future is a folly. Maybe one day I will find a reason to change my mind._

Maria looked up from the entry she had just finished reading, tears pricking her eyes. She sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, and thumbed through the little book, marking her place. She could not bear to keep reading right now. She was in the last little book Max had given her, and as the journey he had traveled came closer to the end, he grew increasingly introspective and despairing, a sorrow that was too close to her own heart at times, and most certainly to her husband's.

"Maria," Georg said a few minutes later. "You should see this."

He was holding out a yellowed newspaper clipping from the stash in the folder Max had given them. To the outside observer, most of the clippings were a haphazard collection of little importance, but Georg had recognized most of what he read as being related to the imprisonment or promotion of their fellow imperial navy officers and juniors. The man chosen to fill Georg's role as Naval Commander of the Third Reich had been one of Georg's most promising subordinates in the Great War, and a good friend to Max, especially on the days where Georg was too tense to serve as a drinking mate and poker opponent. Another spoke of the imprisonment of their own commanding officer for his refusal to declare his allegiance to the Nazi Party. Having also been assigned immediately to the new order as had Georg, he had been court-martialed and shot.

But the bit of interest to Maria was an article describing how the abbess of the Benedictine convent in Salzburg, along with the mistress of postulants and the mistress of novices, had been put on trial for conspiracy and sentenced to work in a Polish work camp. The article emphasized the muted outrage and sadness of those in the city who had known of the firm and steady guidance these women had brought to the convent, as well as their efforts to alleviate society's ills.

Maria read the bit article, aghast, hand covering her mouth by the time she reached the end. She looked at Georg, eyes wide, fear etched in them. "I never thought… of course, our being there that night endangered the abbey—but this, this is diabolical." The unshed tears were glistening in Maria's eyes now, and she felt as though she would be violently sick. "Convents carry no political affiliation," she whispered. "They are untouchable and do nothing but good for those that they serve…"

Closing her eyes and letting the tears fall to her cheeks, Maria moaned, "Why? Why, Georg?" Her words were choked. "Oh, we never should have gone there. What have we done?"

Georg moved to embrace his wife, but she balled her fists and pushed him away.

"No! Don't touch me!" she snapped. Her voice was shaking and low pitched, a reflection of the wild despair and bitterness that Georg had never once seen in his wife through all the trials and tribulations they had faced, and never imagined that he ever would.

"Darling, we cannot afford to blame ourselves—"

"Stop." She uttered the word in a cold, hard voice. Drawing herself up as straight as she could, forcing her shoulders back, she said, "Do not dare to tell me that they made their own choices and were prepared to suffer the consequences in order to help us. They willingly helped us under the assumption that one does not violate the unwritten code by involving godly women in gross and disgusting political ends." Turning away from Georg and wrapping her arms about herself, Maria said, voice cracking, "The abbey is meant to be a safe and sacred thing. What a fool I was to ever suggest we go to the convent in the first place. I violated that sanctity by ever thinking that it would be a place for us to go and hide. Again."

"Maria," Georg ventured carefully, "you must not blame yourself for this. We do not even know their whereabouts. Maybe they were never transported to Poland."

Maria gave her husband a withering glance over her shoulder. "Right," she said sarcastically. "Max aged a century of his own accord, did he? And I suppose Herr Hitler's countless other political enemies merely marched themselves to their own deaths!"

"No—"

"I am not daft. I have read the papers, and the magazines, and seen the newsreels. You have. Simply surviving reaches untold probabilities!" Turning back around to face her husband, she asked, "Can you honestly look me in the eye and say you feel no guilt for our own part in this?"

Wishing that he could reach out and steady her as he watched her sway, Georg swallowed. "No, Maria, I cannot."

"We have to find out what happened," Maria said, turning a sad face toward her husband. "We must."

Tentatively, Georg spread his hands out in front of him in a sign of surrender. "We shall."

Maria's stiff posture relaxed slightly at this pronouncement and she stepped into his embrace, resting her head down on his left shoulder. "I just hoped… I hoped the hell had ended, but now it feels like it has only just begun." Swallowing, Maria began to weep, shoulders shaking. "I'm sorry, Georg, I just—I am no military officer. I cannot see war in terms of black and white, winners and losers. We have won, but what has been lost that we will never know?"


	8. Part I: Chapter 7

Aigen, Austria  
>September 1937<p>

"_And I'll sing once more..."_

The note faded, and Maria turned in a circle, breathing deeply. Inhaling the scent of the fresh green grass, she closed her eyes, a gentle smile crossing her face. The breeze was blowing gently on the Untersberg today, the sun shining and clouds rolling across vibrant blue skies.

Georg looked up at his fiancée and grinned at the contented expression on her face. It was a quiet afternoon for the two of them, and he was glad to see her so thoroughly at home in the beautiful meadow surrounding them. Reaching for her hand, he murmured, "That was beautiful, Maria. Your voice is utterly enchanting."

Smiling down at Georg, Maria answered, "Thank you, darling. I once told the Reverend Mother that I sing about anything and everything. I thought at times that it was quite the curse, this talent of mine – it got me into plenty of trouble at the abbey – but the children certainly love it, and apparently so do you."

Moving over as Maria rejoined him on the picnic blanket, Georg chuckled. "I have to admit that since the first time I heard your voice, I was utterly transfixed."

Propping herself up on an elbow, Maria cocked an eyebrow at her soon-to-be husband. "Transfixed? As I remember, the first time you heard me sing was during a thunderstorm, one where I was dancing around like an idiot –"

"– and being the first one to make my children laugh in a long time." Maria's expression was wholly skeptical, so he continued, "Oh, yes, it's true. Ask Frau Schmidt if you must. I've heard their plotting laughter, the glee they would take in the misfortune of some governess or other, but never the joy in their laughter that I heard that night when I was standing in the hall listening to the noise coming from your open door –"

Here, Maria tutted, accusing, "So you were standing outside the door! Timing your entrance, I don't doubt!"

Grinning, Georg conceded, "Alright, I do admit that I was carefully timing my entrance, though I did not expect to have my children's governess come hurling toward me. But, as I was saying, my dear," he continued, shaking his head at her attempt to interject, "I was enchanted by your voice. It's so clear and bell-like. Crystalline, if you will. A gift."

"So, what else were you thinking while standing outside my door and being enchanted?"

"That I had no idea what to do," Georg said quietly, "and I regret that I reacted in the only way I seemed to know how – by being harsh with both you and my children. I was harsh with them on a night where I'd witnessed for the first time them truly laughing, with it sparkling in their eyes, and I was harsh to the woman who facilitated that happiness, something they haven't had since their mother died."

"And," Maria murmured, taking Georg's chin in her hand so she could look into his eyes, "I daresay –" she kissed him softly on the lips – "you. Am I right?"

Looking into Maria's eyes, Georg felt he could see the world in them. What ever had he done to deserve such a woman as she? At times, it was completely beyond his comprehension. She was the sweetest, most caring, most compassionate woman. She could have any man in the world, she could do anything with her life – especially with that voice! – and yet, she chose to marry him. Marry him. Georg von Trapp, the man with more emotional baggage than he cared to think about, seven motherless children, and four years of hurt and emptiness that all but destroyed his relationship with his children and many others in his life that cared about him. His mind flitted to Elsa for a moment; he had been unfair to her, and yet she'd been so gracious. And here in front of him was Maria, whom Elsa had intentionally driven away, and Maria held no grudge.

Sighing, Georg nodded his head and answered yes. "You're so perceptive."

"Oh, believe me, often the most obvious things fly right over my head."

Pulling an apple from their picnic basket, Georg shook his head. "Perhaps with ordinary things that is true. But when it comes to me, and when it comes to the children. I believe you are the wisest woman alive."

"The youthful commit many follies, Captain," Maria laughed.

"And the wise learn from their mistakes, my love!"

"Would you have said that on the day you met me?" Maria parried.

"Well... perhaps not, but love does funny things to a man!" Georg took both of Maria's hands in his own. "I do love you so, Maria. Be my wife?"

Laughing, Maria got to her feet. "I already agreed to that proposal two months ago, and we shall be married three weeks from now! You must stop asking me or I may consider retracting my acceptance," she said seriously, but with laughter dancing in her eyes. "Shall we pack up and walk back to the train, now?" I have an appointment to have my dress fitted one more time. The dressmaker in Vienna was kind enough to send it to the shop in town."

Sighing, Georg agreed. "Yes, I suppose so. But," he grinned, "you will be the toast of the party tonight, the finest woman there!"

"On the arm of the most handsome, attractive man in Salzburg," Maria added, finishing in exasperation, "though I know better than to feed your ego!"

Georg's laughter was long and full. "It is good to know that you are so much more comfortable with me now, Fräulein. In the first few weeks after our engagement, I wondered if proposing to you took away the woman I intended to marry!"

Folding the blanket now, Maria said as a blush rose to her face, "It was a lot to take in, and a lot has been changing. It was difficult when the children did not take the news as I had hoped they would."

"There have been many, many adjustments," Georg nodded. "And just look at the children now! All clamoring to be involved in the wedding preparations and practically begging to tear you away from me! I have quite the competition, Fräulein. I'm not so sure I appreciate it. You must do something to curtail these other suitors."

"I think the answer," Maria said as they began to walk away from their picnic spot, hands interlocked between them, "is to include them in everything we possibly can, all nine of us."

"Something we have certainly been doing, Fräulein, even before we told them of our engagement."

"Yes," Maria nodded. "You were right, Georg. I needn't have worried about them. I was concerned that perhaps my relationship with them was damaged irrevocably, but then I realized... it's changing anyways. I will no longer be their governess and best friend, but their mother."

"And while your interests and loyalties will always rest with them," Georg continued, "they are shared with me now, and you exercise a right of authority you did not have before. It is a considerable change of relationship dynamic for them to process."

"And therefore," Maria continued, "their hostility was to be expected."

"At any rate, they are over it now, love. And if any of them gives you a hard time about anything, you are to come to me without hesitation."

"Yes, sir!" Maria confirmed, saluting her fiancé playfully.

* * *

><p>Maria swished before her full-length mirror, admiring the flow of the powder blue chiffon and silk fabric as she moved. The dress was a fine one, certainly finer than anything she'd ever worn, let alone owned.<p>

Georg had seen the dress in the display window of a Viennese dressmaker when they'd been in the city arranging necessary things for the wedding and had actually stopped in his tracks to look at it. Maria had seen it that morning when they'd arrived, but hadn't dared stare too long. It was extravagant, and would be perfect for any number of parties they had to attend in the coming months, but she couldn't bear to point it out when the thought of the wedding list crossed her mind. They already had plenty to buy and the dressmaker in Salzburg would be sufficient for anything she would need.

But he'd been adamant that she try it on that day, and had walked out with the dress ordered and a very profusely contradicting Maria beside him. He'd had none of it, insisting that she get used to ordering lavish gowns. And not just because she would need them, but because he wanted her to have them.

Maria had to admit that the dress she wore was very flattering to her figure, and while it was quite modern and stylish, it was not grossly indecent, either. She actually rather enjoyed the gentle swell of her breasts she saw, especially as she straightened her back and put her shoulders back. The bodice hugged her middle comfortably and hugged her hips before flaring out to the floor; the neckline itself was a generous, delicate princess-style creation. The whole dress was well-structured, and Maria knew she would be proud to walk beside Georg while donning it, especially knowing it was a dress he had chosen for her.

With a sigh, Maria unzipped the dress and stepped out of it, laying it out on her bed. Upon hearing a knock at her door, she asked, "Who is it?"

"Just me, Maria," came Georg's voice. "I wanted to take you somewhere before we have to dress for the party tonight."

"I'm not dressed," Maria answered, going over to the door. "Is there anything in particular I should wear?"

"Just something you don't mind getting a bit dirty. And wear your leather boots."

"Those dreadful things?" Maria asked.

"Yes. You'll be grateful later. Meet me down in the gardens in five minutes."

After giving it a quick thought, Maria dressed in the old gray dress and boots she'd first arrived at the villa wearing, knowing no one but the household would see the atrocious get-up. She supposed she could have worn something else, but she didn't think that lacing up a bodice was worth the effort for an hour or two of whatever Georg had in mind.

When she met him in the gardens a few minutes later, he grinned at her outfit, commenting, "I suppose you took my suggestion literally!"

Maria shrugged. "As long as no one else has to see the future Baroness von Trapp dressed this way!"

"Come with me," Georg said, taking Maria's hand and leading her toward the front gardens. They walked down the drive together and through the open gates, turning left down the dirt street.

"I didn't know we were going on a walk," Maria said.

"Don't jump to conclusions," Georg chided. They walked for several minutes in silence before coming upon the paddock that Maria had often wondered about. "I heard you asking Liesl about this paddock and the horse in it last week, Maria," he said. "I specifically asked her not to say anything to you concerning it. I wanted to introduce you to Graciela myself."

When Georg whistled and a beautiful liver Arabian mare galloped to the fence some thirty seconds later, Maria felt her breath catch in her throat. She looked over to Georg, who nodded his consent before she reached out to rub the horse between the eyes. "So she's yours. And I assume this paddock is yours also."

Georg nodded. "I have three other horses, but they've been on loan to some friends all summer, and the children don't like to ride as often as they used to. Marta and Gretl have never actually been on horseback, I'm sorry to say. Graciela was Agathe's horse."

"I see," Maria murmured, her attention focused on the animal in front of her. "Was it your intention to let me ride her?"

"It was my understanding that you're quite a skilled horsewoman. I thought I should introduce you to her today, as it seems to be the only day in which we've had each other to ourselves. Would you like to ride her? I realize, of course, we haven't talked about this at all."

"I would love to ride her," Maria breathed in rapture, voice low as the mare brought her head over the fence and nosed at Maria's hands, clearly looking for a treat, "but wouldn't she... well, shouldn't I get to know her?"

Looking carefully at the mare, Georg shook his head. "I'm not concerned. She would have run off by now if she didn't want you touching her." Opening a small gate, he led Maria into the paddock. "Want a leg up?"

Maria looked at her fiancé, wide-eyed. "Bareback?"

"Everything's in the stable and we don't have the luxury of time. I thought we might double up and ride together for a while. If you want to ride her on your own, you can before we have to go back."

Biting her lip, Maria nodded. "Alright, then." She walked to the mare and rubbed her neck, talking softly to her before allowing Georg to help her mount from the left side.

"Direct her to the fence, Maria. I don't want to take my chances getting up on her myself – I'm not as young as I used to be!"

After Georg mounted the horse behind Maria, he sent Graciela into a smooth trot, and then canter as both he and Maria became more comfortable with their seating. Maria's posture was perfect, her mindset clearly focused, Georg noted with some pride. He whispered in her ear telling her to give the directives, and so she did, flawlessly and almost motionlessly driving the horse in figure-eight patterns throughout the large paddock.

She slowed the horse to a walk, saying to Georg, "She listens so well! I'm terribly rusty, but she seems to know precisely what I want almost before I ask for it."

"She was only ever like that for one other person, Maria," Georg smiled as he nuzzled her neck, placing kisses there. "Even I cannot make her behave the way you have, and she rarely accepts a second rider without fussing. She likes you very much."

"It is rather a novel experience for me as well," Maria commented. "As a child I seemed to always get the most belligerent horses alive. It could be so exhausting, but I learned so much from them all. And it seems to me that it has stuck. I will be very sore tomorrow, something I'm blaming on you, but other than that, it's almost as though I've never had a years-long interlude since my last ride."

Chuckling, Georg nudged Graciela into a trot and pointed towards the road at the opposite end of the paddock. "Look who joined us," he said, directing her gaze to the seven children lined up along the fence.

Maria laughed. "Even when we are alone, we are never truly alone! Shall we go over there?"

Without waiting for an answer, Maria sent the Arabian into a canter, stopping her up alongside the fence where the children were watching their governess and father ride together. Liesl, Friedrich, Brigitta, and Gretl's eyes were sparkling with wonder, while the other three were simply open-mouthed in awe.

"And how do you like Fräulein Maria's horsemanship skills, children?" Georg asked, huge smile on his face as he dismounted and joined them.

"You mean horse_woman_ship, Father," Brigitta corrected, to which they all laughed.

* * *

><p>Paris, France<br>September 1937

Maria fidgeted next to her husband, trying not to be terribly noticeable, but the boning of her corset was pinching the soft flesh along her ribs somewhat horribly, and an underarm seam was the cause of much distress just now. As much as she had tried to weasel her way out of having a corset as a part of her trousseau, Frau Schmidt had absolutely insisted, and Maria knew it made sense to own at least one. Her intention of only ever wearing it beneath her wedding dress hadn't diminished, however, and she absolutely loathed its place in the extravagant ensemble she now wore.

"Surely dressing for a dinner party can be much more comfortable than this," she'd moaned earlier that day. But it was more than a dinner party—this was an important affair, an engagement party, requiring all guests to appear their best.

Maria uttered a small sigh before intertwining her fingers with Georg's beneath the table. He glanced over at her and offered her a warm, comforting, and somewhat apologetic smile, which caused her to forget her discomfort for a moment. His hand squeezed hers in affirmation that later would come a compensation fit to equal the ordeal of this evening, an evening which Maria had sorely wished to spend confined to their hotel suite.

Georg leaned to whisper in Maria's ear, saying softly, "We'll leave after a few dances. I don't think it wise to slight Baron von Schlösser by leaving immediately after the meal's conclusion."

"Oh, of course not," Maria murmured, noticing that Baroness von Schlösser was looking her way. She straightened and offered a charming, and what she hoped to be genuinely delighted smile to the woman seated several chairs away. "I always feel so dissected after an evening like this," she muttered under her breath.

She surveyed the food on her plate with mild distaste; as a general rule, she wasn't one to turn away a hearty meal, but she was quite satiated at this point and also wasn't fond of _Krenfleisch_, a popular pork dish involving horseradish. Maria had first become acquainted with it while she and Georg were away in Vienna toward the end of their betrothal; the ramifications of consuming the dish had gone beyond her simple dislike of it. Nevertheless, she began to cut the meat, desperate to keep her hands busy so that she wouldn't be tempted to survey the table and notice more glances or stares. For whatever reason, the discussion surrounding the meal had died down, and Maria wished it would pick up again.

The next time she looked up, she was pleased to find that the hosts were finished with their meals, and with relief, she set her silverware down and placed her hands in her lap again. The plate in front of her was whisked away within moments, and when she glanced up at the man who took it, he winked at her. "I'm not very enthusiastic about _Krenfleish_, either, Baroness," he said in an undertone.

Maria smiled warmly, mouthing, "_Vielen_ _Dank_."

The salad placed in front of her next was much more palatable, and Maria had to restrain herself from inhaling it in great gulps. Though not one often given to appreciating salad, this one had a fine dressing to accompany it, and Maria enjoyed the tart bite of it against the crunch of satisfyingly-fresh vegetables.

She still was unsure as to how she and Georg had received the invitation for this dinner, but it had been sent by an old friend of Georg's father, to be hosted at the Austrian ship captain's French villa some miles south of Paris. Though French in design, Maria found herself liking it quite a bit, as it felt very much like their own home in Aigen. Perhaps Max had forwarded the invitation, or recognized the address and called to ask about it. He did that sometimes, if he wasn't busy tying up the phone lines with his calls to Stockholm, Copenhagen, Rome, and London about some singing group or other. Maria's lip twitched, and she wondered if they would ever find a moment to speak with the children.

Sipping her wine, Maria let her mind wander, knowing she would not understand much of the conversation flowing around her, as it was in French. But there was one strain of German that she heard in the throng, and she strained her ears to listen, looking around to find the person who spoke so well. The accent was foreign, but the command was superb.

Finally, Maria realized that it was the young RAF officer sitting across and several seats down from her, talking with Baron von Schlösser's granddaughter in the most charming way. The girl was blushing and giggling, and she couldn't be more than twelve or thirteen years of age. Maria smiled as she listened, realizing that the RAF officer was asking the girl about her favorite horse, whom she liked to call "Mouse."

"_Warum hast du dein Pferd 'Mäuschen' bezeichnet?"_

"_Weil sie so kopfscheue ist!"_

Maria watched as the young man laughed heartily at the child's words, then patted her hand and told her that one day, her little horse would grow up to be brave and strong, and she would not be like a timid little mouse anymore. But he liked the name, and he found it a perfect name for such a sweet, beautiful filly.

The child positively beamed at this, and began to chatter rapidly to her grandmother on her other side, tugging at her sleeve and insisting that the handsome flight officer thought her name for her horse was perfect.

Source of conversation now gone, the man looked around the dinner table as he sipped his ice water, only to have his eyes land on Maria. His gaze held long, and he set his cup down slowly. He smiled at her and mouthed, _"Bonjour, Madame!_" to which she responded with a bashful bat of her eyelashes and a murmured, "_Hallo_."

"Hmm?" Georg asked, looking around at his wife from the conversation he'd been having with the man to his right.

"Nothing," Maria said, "just greeting the RAF officer down the table."

Georg scanned the table until his eyes lighted on the man she spoke of. He was too busy staring intently at Maria to realize that Georg was now glaring daggers at him, and he felt a pang of jealousy bolt through him as he observed the boy's reaction. Surely he couldn't be more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight, and what with his shock of thick, blond hair and large green eyes, it was no wonder he thought his affections toward Maria were appropriate!

Finally, the officer realized he was being watched, and he smiled at Georg with a little wave, hardly appropriate for the dinner table, never mind the importance of an event like this! Scowling, Georg turned away from the object of his sudden onset of madness, and tried to resume conversation with the naval engineer next to him.

Maria felt utterly bored, unable to communicate with much of anyone, and extremely uncomfortable in this dress. Well, the dress was not the problem; the corset was. She wondered how big a faux pas it would be for her to sneak off to the washroom to remove it, and then hide it amongst a potted plant, never to be seen again.

"You seem preoccupied," came a voice from over her shoulder some minutes later, and Maria looked around, startled to see that it was the handsome RAF officer who had come up behind her.

Maria smiled ruefully. "Just a little. I can speak English," she offered, and his eyes lit up.

"Can you! Well then," he said, already spouting rapid English, "I can finally have a break and hear my own language for a while, in the company of a gorgeous woman who speaks with a charming accent. Bavaria?" he asked.

Maria shook her head. "Tyrol."

"Ah, so you're Austrian." Gazing at Maria again, he seemed to lose his train of thought, then he shook his head as though to clear his mind. "Forgive me! I have not introduced myself." Holding out his hand, he offered to pull Maria to her feet, saying, "My name is Adam Lark."

"Baroness Maria von Trapp," Maria responded in kind. "Pleased to meet you."

"And I you," he said smoothly, words sliding off his tongue like butter. "As it seems the party is disbanding, would you care to join me on the terrace?"

Looking around uncertainly, Maria wondered if she should allow this virtual stranger to take her off to a place where they could not be seen. The rumours had been bad enough without something like this adding to them. Not to mention that Georg would be furious.

"Um," Maria said, "I would prefer not. Why don't we go to the ballroom, have the first dance of the evening together?" Georg was otherwise preoccupied, anyway, she reasoned to herself.

"I think that would be agreeable," said Adam, and the two of them left the table for the dance hall, watching as the musicians set up and tuned their instruments. Finally, some fifteen minutes later, the music began to play, and the man before her proved to be a more than competent dance partner. Maria did not claim to be a master of dance, by any means, but she had suffered the great misfortune of dancing with one too many bad dancers in her time, and so she preferred to dance with a partner she knew she would always be able to trust.

Georg showed up at Maria's shoulder not halfway through the second dance, and Adam passed her off to him, bemused, but quick to learn.

"What are you doing?" Maria hissed, fighting the urge to wrench away from her husband.

"I do not want to see you alone with that man," Georg said, casting a wary eye over the younger man.

"Georg, if this is because you're jealous, you can stop that right now!"

"Not jealous," Georg said, though Maria's raised eyebrow indicated that she was not convinced. "It is not appropriate to speak of it in polite company," he said. "I will tell you later."

"That had best be a promise," Maria said severely. "He is a good dancer!"

"Then I shall be even better," Georg said, a bit viciously, and pulled his wife flush to him for the waltz that had just begun.

He kept her at his side for the remainder of the evening, and while Maria did not precisely resent him for it, the interaction with Adam Lark had warmed her to the idea of socializing on her own, making her own company without Georg's introductions… letting her title and name work for her of its own accord. Just the fact that she was attending this dinner party meant that she was afforded the position of the Austrian nobility, and as it was not a von Trapp gathering, Maria was not tied down to the airs and graces required specifically of the hostess.

"Champagne, Maria?" Georg asked later in the evening.

Seeing that Georg was somewhat flushed and had been imbibing since dinner several hours before, Maria shook her head, reaching out to lower the hand that he had raised to signal for more. "You have had quite enough, yourself, I think," she said. "If you drink much more, where will that leave me?"

"You need not worry, Baroness," came Adam Lark's voice again.

Turning, Maria bit her lip, unsure of whether Georg would be impolite to the man.

The young air force officer bowed slightly to Georg. "I am Lieutenant Lark of the Royal Air Force," he said.

"Captain Georg von Trapp of the Austro-Hungarian Imperial Navy," Georg said, his remark smarting of bitter superiority.

"Georg!" Maria exclaimed, flushing with embarrassment for her husband's ill temper.

"It's quite alright," Lieutenant Lark said, appraising Georg with a look Maria could only describe as pity. "I would be bitter too if everything I ever fought for in my life was about to disintegrate before my very eyes."

"Stay away from us," Georg growled, one arm wrapped tightly around his wife's waist, while the other's hand was balling into a tight fist, veins popping in his wrist.

"I should think you would be delighted for your wife to find such congenial company at a gathering so completely sordid," the lieutenant spat, but he spun on his heel and walked away, failing to bid goodnight to Maria.

Though Maria was still confused and furious with her husband over his possessive and aggressive behavior, the lieutenant's words reminded her of something she had seen on the newsstands while they were walking to a breakfast café that morning. The headlines had spoken of the near-certainty of Hitler's annexation of Austria, and Georg had stopped to look at it, having scanned it while Maria fidgeted beside him, hungry and unwilling to spend the day with a brooding husband when they had such a lavish event to attend that night.

She had thought he took it in stride as more sensationalist fear-mongering, as he had been alright as far as she could tell for the remainder of the day, but now she realized he had simply hid his sulking from her, and this RAF lieutenant had brought it out again.

That did not explain why Georg was so against Maria associating with the man, however, and she _had _enjoyed his company until the moment he had insulted Georg. It reminded her of an exchange he had told her of from the party Baroness Schröder had hosted, in which an officer of the Austrian Navy, Wolfgang Zeller, had needled Georg, assuring him that the Anschluss would come, and simultaneously accusing him of blind loyalty to an old order.

"This man sounds like he is supremely overconfident," Maria had said at the retelling, "and perhaps the Anschluss will come, or perhaps it will not, but can you honestly say that you don't think such close proximity to Germany will result in something undesirable?"

"Just because we also speak German does not mean we Austrians are also German," Georg bristled. "I was born in the Kingdom of Dalmatia, and have Italian citizenship! My children are half English, with the full rights conferred to them as Austrians of the Empire of their birth and as subjects of the King!"

Maria looked at her husband with a sad expression, saying, "Don't you remember how the last war changed so much?"

Georg was at a loss. If Maria, who had only just begun paying attention to the affairs important to the man she was about to marry, felt that this unrest signaled the rumblings of war, perhaps it was time for him to relinquish his stranglehold on this life he knew…

But it was so much more than that. It was not just the way of life that was slipping from his grasp, but the remnants of the empire he had pledged his life's service to, his allegiance. He would become a man without a country.

He wished that he could find the words to describe it, to share it with Maria. But it would have to be his cross to bear. He could not possibly put his fears into words, for terror that the things he spoke to her in confidence would tempt the fates and come to pass. So he did the only thing he knew how to do, and drew Maria closely to him, burying his face in her hair, feeling the thrum of her heart against his hand resting on her chest. Steady. Strong. Sure.

Right at this moment, though, his silk-clad wife was furious with him, and his mind was clouded by jealousy and alcohol just as well as it was clouded by anger.

"Take me to our hotel suite," Maria said, gaze hard. "You promised me hours ago that we would leave as soon as was appropriate, and you've done nothing but tote me around as a piece on your arm. You do _not_ own me!"

Her words stung, and Georg was enraged that she would think he was capable of such behavior. Damn her, he was trying to protect her! She could not possibly know that, but they had attended this function together, of which they were both loathe to do, laboring under the assumption that they would be each other's bulwarks. Instead, she had found herself charming, superficial, ill-suited company. Was it the uniform that made the wretch seem so honorable?

"If you think so little of my character, fine, we shall go!"

If Maria was taken aback by his words, she did not show it. Instead, she stalked off to retrieve her overcoat and gloves from the valet, gave her thanks and excuses to the hostess, and watched her husband with a wary eye as he navigated his way through the congested great hall at a considerably slower pace. When he had placed his hat on his head and buttoned his jacket, she took his proffered arm and exited with him, somewhat stiffly, but knowing it would not do to give any naysayers the benefit of the doubt concerning the reasons they were making such an abrupt exit.

Unable to contain her fury, Maria rounded on her husband as soon as the cab door shut behind her and burst out, "_Would_ you mind telling me what that was all about? You were utterly unkind to the lieutenant—in fact, you were downright spiteful—and also jealous, possessive, and you looked ready to punch someone right as I suggested that we leave!"

Not caring whether the cab driver understood German, Georg burst out, equally incensed, "How do you think I felt, seeing my _wife_ flirt with perhaps the most disreputable man in attendance tonight?"

Ignoring the twinge of caution Maria felt recalling how the RAF officer had suggested that he and Maria go to the terrace alone, she cried, "He was the first one to make me feel welcome and worthy of making conversation with! Forgive me for enjoying a serendipitous moment in which I thought I was finally in complete command of my role, able to hold my own! I should think you would be glad for it!"

Any trace of consent to her words was clouded by the rage boiling in Georg. "I did not like him," he said stubbornly, "and that should have been sufficient!"

"Oooh, you!" Maria cried, incredulous, "Listen to yourself! How can you say such a thing? I have had to suffer through people far more insufferable than that man for your benefit!"

"He's a married man," Georg said bluntly, "and a rake. I thought he might have whisked you away from view to take advantage of you when I saw that you both were gone from the dining hall."

"Surely now we aren't casting stones," Maria said coolly. "And for your information, I am perfectly capable of handling myself! When the dinner party was disbanding for dance and drink, he tried to entice me to join him on the terrace, alone. Fortunately for me, I was fool enough only to suggest that we might dance instead, in plain view!"

"I thought it best not to take chances," Georg said, stubbornly unapologetic.

"You could have at least had the grace to handle him with the finesse of a Ritter von Trapp that I _know_ you possess in spades, Georg," Maria said sharply, jabbing a finger at the Maria Theresa Cross fastened around his neck. "Your sulking temper was uncalled for!"

"So you're questioning my honor, now, as well as my motives?"

Maria stared at her husband with silent rage and chose not to dignify such an absurd question with an answer. Instead, she blurted out, "I just want you to _talk_ to me! I want to understand you and everything that causes you such distress that you turn a small interaction into a tense altercation!"

"There aren't enough words in the world that could accomplish that," Georg said bitterly.

"Well, _try_!" Maria implored. "Please try."

Her husband's jaw was tight, the vein in his forehead visible. But he nodded tightly.

"Thank you," Maria said earnestly, taking his hands in her lap and gently uncurling the fingers of his balled fists, so as to thread her fingers between this, clasping his hand with hers.

They rode the rest of the way back to Paris in silence, each of them dwelling on their respective thoughts. Maria had already put Georg's jealousy from her mind, and was thinking troubled thoughts about the RAF officer. He had left out his rank when he had introduced himself to her, and had worn no wedding ring… perhaps it had been his attempt to be inconspicuous but appear open and intimate with the women who caught his fancy. She had only known he was an officer in the British military from the conversation she had overheard: the girl had used it when speaking with him.

"Georg," Maria said as the night horizon of the city of lights came upon them, "Why was the RAF lieutenant at the party?'

"He is a cousin of Baroness Schlösser," Georg answered, calmer now. "Distantly related on her father's side. He was here in Paris and took advantage of his status as family to obtain an invitation. He claims to be here on business with the French military forces, but it must not be so serious if he is able to cavort about at balls in the French countryside," he commented. "I freely admit that I had my fair share of fun in my younger days, but I never had the time to attend a social dinner! It must be a charmed life, serving in the air force."

Maria thought perhaps that his words were a little callous, but not having a great sense for the rivalry between military branches, friendly or embittered, and especially the newest branch of aviation, she elected to stay silent on the matter. Instead, she said, "It was so nice to not be asked why I gave up life in the convent, or if we had plans to expand our family, or if you were now going to consider returning to active naval service."

"It sounds like you have found the key to success," Georg indulged her, knowing that these nosy questions would probably always grate her nerves. "What is it?"

"Simply not allowing an avenue for such discussion to take place," Maria said. Sighing, she continued, "The trouble is, I enjoy talking about the children, explaining all their accomplishments and endeavors. It is hard to avoid the topic, especially when I find myself in a gaggle of simpering, vile women that have nothing better to do but gossip over other women's families or wardrobes, and I so desire to infuse some honest pride and sanity into the affair."

"So, you've found your way to dominating the discussions you're privy to?"

"No, not dominating, precisely," Maria mused. "And not controlling. It's more like directing, like I'm a puppeteer manipulating his marionettes. I just wish I had figured it out sooner!" she lamented. "It would have saved me so much grief!"

"Some things are meant to be learned over time, though, love, and can be vastly different in application depending on the situation and the people with whom you are congregated. And the distress it caused you _did_ lead to a productively preemptive discussion that we needed to have and might otherwise not have thought of before it was too late, after all."

"I suppose," Maria said with a small sigh. "I suppose."


End file.
